Mad Season
by Nadare
Summary: Alternative universe Dee Laytner stumbles into an unknown realm of the supernatural, only to find that not all things are worse than they seem...
1. A Beginning

_Author's Note: The idea that created this, began as a random thought that slowly evolved into what you read today, spurred by five very unremitting muses, my own curiosity as to where everything was heading, and lastly, confidence-boosting reviews that continue even now, when I am taking an extended leave of absence from fan fiction. My deepest thanks to all who left their opinion, and I will continue writing this story until it's inevitable conclusion. _  
  
[Written between November 25th and the 31st of 2002]

[Last Edited May 24th of 2004]  
  
Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).

---------------------------------------------

Mad Season Chapter One: A Beginning 

In a large clearing of the vacant park, with the full moon shining bright in the sky above, one could make out a figure, solitary in his sentry; a tall lanky man who sat quietly on the wooden park bench with his feet resting on the edge of the seat, lower body sitting on the top of the bench. His clothing was plain, nothing that could discern him from a gathered crowd. Cerulean jeans, and a long sleeved crimson dress shirt covered his lean figure, while resting in his lap was a black leather jacket, the cuffs of the piece of clothing worn from overuse.

His skin was tan, even though the recent New York winter had been especially harsh, and the man hadn't seen any warm weather for days now. One pair of dark emerald eyes blinked and then refocused on the ashen colored moon above him as Dee Laytner ran a hand through his short-cropped black hair and sighed, the exhalation of breath itself was soft in tone, a sharp contrast to the gravelly deep voice in which he spoke. He'd come here to gain some peace of mind, and found his mind obstinately refusing to grant him his lone desire.

Shaking his head back and forth curtly, the man reached into his jacket pocket for his ever-present pack of cigarettes, a moment later holding the lit plastic lighter to the cancer stick, and inhaling deeply as the tip begun to glow orange. Dee made short work of the cigarette, as he puffed contentedly, looking out among the shadowed clearing with an arched eyebrow. It seemed no one but crazies, the forever oblivious, and criminals wandered out into the darkness at this time of night, though the question, that vaguely amused Dee was, what category did he fall under?

With another flick of the lighter, he began work on a new cigarette, sighing heavily as Dee slid down the park bench, coming to rest on the balls of his feet. In one boneless motion he stood, pressing his lips tightly around the ashen cylinder to prevent it from escaping its unstable position. Dee scanned the clearing once again, instincts taking a brief hold on him before his tense shoulders shifted into a more relaxed posture. He started to walk towards the dark forest path when a flick of movement went noticed from the corner of his eye, halting all movement his body had attempted to make.

It was a shady looming outline that dragged itself from the recluse of the forest path, panting wildly, in an unsteady rhythm that signified it was in deep pain, and obviously suffering immensely from something other than it's injuries, though what Dee could not discern. The creature was at least seven feet tall, covered in thick black fur that matched the shadows almost perfectly, if it had not revealed itself, the man would have never known it was present.

It's long snout released, revealing white glistening teeth, which would never be mistaken for anything other than a killing weapon. Amber wolf eyes glowered at Dee and he struggled to breathe under that burning gaze, like a lighthouse light burning brightly as it turned his way. Long muscular arms ended in crude claws, with points that gleamed sharp in the moonlight above. The legs were protracted, and muscles flexed as the creature crept closer, seeming oddly cautious for a creature of it's supremacy, until Dee could see the furred skin roll up and down with the movement.

Crimson liquid ran in deep heavy lines down its neck, and Dee fought the urge to lean forward and prod at the wound, common sense telling him that to do such a thing would be beyond ignorance. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back from that form of contained violence, eyeing the creature closely as he did so, for a low growling sound crawled out of the beast's throat but it did not make any advances towards him.

At a better vantage point, Dee could see the injuries had been made by various weapons, making particular note of the bullet wounds, all of them at close range if the carnage surrounding the holes was of any indication, as well a few deep cuts as well, obviously inflicted upon the beast by knives.

His voice, which he feared would come out an octave higher than usual, came out normal, in an oddly detached-professional tone. "Well, looks like you've been dragged through hell and back," Dee commented, pondering if the creature could actually comprehend human speech. What was this beast anyway? No dogs he was aware of actually loomed over their owners.

The sound of angry yelling caught his ear, and before he could glance back fully at the beast, there was a sudden hardness to it's strange eyes, and Dee could scarcely draw in a breath before pain ripped its way across his shoulder. He suddenly found himself sprawled about the ground, forcing his lungs to function as they normally did, a challenge in of itself as Dee became aware of footfalls nearby.

As the ground quivered slightly beneath him, he raised his head to see several dark shapes cross his line of vision, one of which neared enough to raise a pale hand to his forehead, and unconsciously, Dee found himself leaning into the touch, hands moving of their own accord to reach out and clutch desperately at the wrist of that proffered hand.

"Who are you? Why did yo-" He questioned, unable to draw anymore words as the pain of his wounded shoulder rolled his mind under completely, dark streamers eating at the remainder of his vision, and vaguely Dee was aware of someone repositioning his body, of something foul hitting the ground then something cool replacing the hand on his forehead.

When Dee could see somewhat clearly again, a face of mixed ancestry met his gaze evenly, with a touch of irritation, as a male voice sprung out of that mouth, and he grimaced as the sound entered the air, for his senses seemed to have either dulled or sharpened, he was not sure which.

"Looks bad. The beast struck him across the shoulder and chest, managing a competent bash to his head as well. His pupils are uneven, which may mean he has a concussion but we'll not be sure of that until Doc Campbell checks him over." Through his daze, Dee figured the man had one foot on American soil, the other he could not place; Asian perhaps? Only one of the dark gray eyes directed at him actually saw Dee, as the man's left one was a cold white thing that moved in sync with the other, the area around the damaged eye was covered in angry ashen scars that screamed quite an interesting history, and Dee pondered how the wound could have come about.

The world threatened to revolve when the mysterious man readjusted Dee, the reason only becoming clear when smooth-skinned fingers came to rest on his neck, pressing lightly for a moment then shifting away altogether. Was he imagining all this or had reality really become so skewered?

"Diana, check his clothes for any sort of ID," The man said as he grabbed hold of Dee's arm, pulling him up to his feet, only to take hold of him completely as Dee's legs refused to obey him correctly, as something dark rolled across his vision, and before he was aware of it, several moments went by before Dee could focus on the current happenings around him.

There was a slam of a car door, a metallic whir, and the feel of cold night air rushing onto his fevered skin then a light female voice spoke to him quietly, obviously intent on keeping him from falling asleep. "Hold on a little longer please, Dee, it's not that far from Randy's apartment and once Doc has looked you over and confirmed you aren't suffering from a concussion, then you can rest all you want, all right?"

Dee managed a slight nod of the head then restrained from any further movement as the small motion had made his teeth clinch tightly, and head pound even harder then before. Pain jolted him from his short daze, and after a comforting pat on the shoulder; Dee grimly set himself to the task of resisting off the darkness that rested on the edge of his version, when brakes screeched, time seemed to hasten and as a soft surface presented itself, he started, forgetting for a moment that the people around him were trying to assist him, not injure him further.

For a time, small hands prodded his wounds before someone's muttering voice became apparent, fixed on the task in front of him and not in his current surroundings it seemed, a second voice, the one he had first heard at the park joined in soon enough, and Dee forced himself to focus on the conversation. "…You're saying that he may have had a concussion but it's difficult to tell even though I told you of the his symptoms upon our arrival in the park?"

"Ryo, I'm not doubting what you saw but given current circumstances, and possible pending changes in the future, his body obviously saw fit to heal the more life-threatening injuries before the superficial ones, not that it…werker…later on…" The words began to blur, fading in and out before Dee fell into oblivion, numb to the pain that screamed from his shoulder and his ever-aching head, and most of all, numb to all the mayhem that had recently taken place.

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Into the Fold

_Author's Note: If you've been following what I've written thus far, it should be no secret I prefer this story to 'Three Little Words" as evident by my recent lack of updates in the aforementioned story. Even though the tone of "Mad Season" is darker, I feel I can explore more in this story than in "Three Little Words;" not that I'll quit writing it altogether though._  
  
[Written between December 11th to the 17th of 2002]

[Last edited on May 29th of 2004]

Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, all original characters contained within belong to me (not that it matters much in the end).   
--------------------------------------- -------  
**_"Mad Season"_**  
_Chapter Two: Into the Fold_

An angry scowl was thoroughly grounded in Randy's expression as he eyed the man lying on the couch before him with disdain. When they'd finally located their briefly lost quarry, they'd found him, one Dee Laytner wounded and teetering on the edge of consciousness, something that was not lost as Diana had volunteered to keep him aware of his surroundings until they reached Randy's apartment, the location being the closest at the time. 

Leaving Dee where he lay would not have been a wise decision, as he'd seemed more than Randy cared for, particularly his face, and that was dangerous knowledge to carry these days, especially as of late. The man had lost consciousness shortly before Doc Campbell had left, giving Dee a clean bill of health save for the wounded shoulder, and had slept undisturbed since, though Randy was sure he would awaken soon as it was already nearing nine 'o clock in the morning.

The Resistance had made short work of the already wounded berwerker (1), finishing the creature with a silver bullet in the center of his forehead, shortly after receiving the killing blow; the werker had shifted back to its human form, an unexpected event, but not at all unusual, for it merely meant that the man hadn't been a willing victim of the beast who'd marked him and made him what he was, which brought him back to this Laytner fellow.

There was a 50-50 chance he too would shift in one of the horrendous creatures himself, or the infection would dissipate and never lay claim to the body it had taken root in, either way, Randy couldn't bring himself to care. Dee was a bother, luggage to carry around until he proved dangerous, or completely harmless. People's immune systems were strange things indeed, Randy himself had been stuck by the creatures more times he could count and never had he begun to show signs of the change.

Someone cleared their throat, and Randy torn his gaze from Dee's sleeping form to focus on the woman standing in the lighted kitchen doorway, who merely stared for a moment then smiled lightly, as if entertaining amusing thoughts. "I know he's handsome but that's no reason to glue your eye to him the whole night. It's not just him that had a rough night, you know?"

Crossing his arms, Randy shoved past the tall blond woman and leaned against one of the kitchen counters, feeling none too pleased with how the evening had panned out, despite the fact the Resistance's objective had been accomplished and not one member had been injured extensively. "I know. You did your fair share as well as the others," He said mechanically, the words pouring out without emotion, as Randy was tired, emotionally and physically.

Diana Spacey frowned, sensing a tendril of fatigue before crossing the space between them, and placed a hand on his shoulder, exerting a bit of pressure so she could maneuver him into one of situated kitchen chairs nearby. "How long has it been since you took time off from the Resistance for yourself?" Expertly, she massaged the tense muscles in the man's shoulders, shifting down his unclothed back and up again in long slow movements.

Considering for a moment to push the woman away, Randy merely closed his eyes, chin falling against his chest as he sighed heavily while skilled hands brought some peace of mind to him; aware he did not answer her inquiry, the pair fell into comfortable silence as Diana's hands continued shifting onto the confines of his body.  
-------------------------------------------

A spear of light stabbed against his closed eyelids, drawing a long groan from Dee as he began to gain consciousness, the first thought being, who the hell did he infuriate to get hit in the chest with a 2-ton beam? Every time he drew breath, it seemed differing sensations of agony took hold of his body refusing him much-needed relief of his injuries.

Injuries? A tan hand rose to bother at the heavy white bandages encasing his shoulder and upper chest, losing it's strength a moment later as the man spied the set of long claw marks that ran in deep crimson lines down his body, it was clear he'd been unconscious for quite some time, as the wounds had ceased bleeding into the gauze, which meant the events of the night before had indeed occurred.

As he recalled them, they flashed in bits and pieces, random images and words, that slowly formed a whole that both intrigued and disturbed him; the strange creature had struck him, there had been pain, immense pain that was a pale thing compared to the hurt he felt now, then he vaguely remembered that strikingly scarred face, along with the last words he had heard before complete darkness had overtaken his consciousness.

Fuck. He desperately needed a cigarette, as the nicotine fix would calm his nerves and allow Dee to think this incident over rationally (if what he had gone through could be called rational at all). He looked around the room he was situated in, taking note of the plain white walls surrounding him and the low coffee table resting upon a light straw mat nearby, which made it quite obvious that the owner of this apartment did not take interest in luxurious items and focused on the bare necessities.

Just a little beyond his position on the comfortable couch, there was an opened wooden door allowing Dee a glimpse of a large bed before a flash of pain consumed his thoughts, and he turned from his examination of the surroundings to focus on the task of sitting up and making to find his absent dress shirt and jacket. The top lining of Dee's jeans was smeared with dried blood that flaked off in tiny bits as he sat up, pressing the small of his back against the couch and the large throw pillow situated behind him.

He scanned the floor, brow narrowing determinedly as he discovered a familiar rumple of clothing lying on the hardwood and upon taking a deep breath, Dee stood, nearly cursing loudly as his injuries made reminder of themselves, but he managed to suppress the outburst into a low whimper. Once he was able to kneel down, and take hold of his clothes, he found them a bloodied mess, dirt and heavy scarlet liquid nearly coating the shirt and leather jacket completely, ruining any chance he had at making use of the items once again.

Dee's cigarette box survived intact, oddly enough, with only a few drops of blood resting on the white sheen that covered the box, and never one to waste time, his fingers drew a cigarette from the container with practiced ease, grasping the lighter from his jean pocket a moment later to light the white cylinder. A long contented sigh fell from his lips as he exhaled, the smoke curling about his face a moment before floating upwards and dissipating in the air above him.

Nicotine fix fulfilled, Dee inhaled once more before crushing the cigarette into the dirt of a potted plant nearby, glancing around before heading to the lighted kitchen door. As he closed the distance between the kitchen door and himself, a male voice began speaking softly, echoing softly in the confines of the room he was currently occupying.

"This nest is relatively small, therefore, it shouldn't be more than a few more days before the rest of the werkers (2) are cleared out and then we will be able to proceed to a new location. Let's just hope those damned creatures have the sense to go down easy this time, we lost too many members during the last raid."

The sight that had greeted him as he wandered into the room was well worth the effort he'd exerted to get here, as both the man and woman situated in the kitchen were both very excellent eye-candy (yet mentioning such a thing out loud would only stain his first impression). Though the man's left eye was scarred, it did nothing to diminish the soft delicate lines that made up his body, even seated at the table, Dee could tell the stranger was fairly tall, with skin that seemed deathly pale even with the sunlight streaming in from the window above the sink.

Dark gray eyes turned his way, and Dee nearly smirked in their general direction, as the honey-colored locks upon the man's head was a wonderful combination, it was also apparent the scarred individual kept in shape, as Dee could tell he had some sort of exercise program, built solidly as he was yet not grotesquely so.

The smirk he'd been hiding revealed itself fully as he turned to examine the woman at the strange man's side, and once again, Dee was reminded of the fact there were some days when he was extremely grateful of his bisexual nature, as it allowed him to view both sexes in the flip of the same coin (oh, the things those poor heterosexuals were missing out upon [3]).

The woman was a little shorter than Dee's own height, with a thin lean body that looked so very appealing after the sort of night he had had. Long curly blond hair cascaded around her trim face and shoulders, accentuating dark green eyes not so different from his own and finished with his observation, Dee thought to speak the questions that had been plaguing his mind upon awakening but ten minutes ago.

"Just what were those damned creatures, anyway? Or do you not wish to tell me what left my shoulder in a mess of bandages and my head an aching ball of hurt?"

While the blond woman started in alarm at Dee's sudden appearance, the strange man merely sent a glance Dee's way, one eyebrow arched in curiosity then his lips quirked before he spoke, seeming only amused that their captive had finally seen fit to grace the pair with his presence. "Oh, seems we acquired a poet unwittingly."

"Among other things," Dee interjected as he leaned against the frame of the kitchen door tiredly, silently thinking that perhaps he should go back the way he came and endeavor to find comprehension of what he had been through once taking a brief respite then thought better of it, as he didn't want to reflect further on the images his mind had provided thus far. "Come take a seat if you can manage to walk the way to the table without faltering. Your injuries should be rested properly but if you're determined to hear this explanation out, I will not stop you."

Dee cursed colorfully underneath his breath as he walked that small journey, shoulder burning and doing a very good job of attempting to convince him to go lay back on the couch but as he had resolved himself to seeking out answers, he refused to give up, even if his body was against his decision.

The woman standing near the man's shoulder sprung into action, taking one of Dee's arms, and laying it astride her shoulders, lending her support as he continued to move forward. "You should be aware Doc Campbell insisted you have at least 24 hours bed rest before you undertake any movements. That shoulder of yours won't allow you any broad movements for a few weeks."

"Who are you and who is this Doc Campbell, not to mention that man glaring at me with one eye from across the room?" Dee asked, situating himself in the kitchen chair across from the pale man, resting his wounded arm on the tabletop; for his part, the scarred stranger stared at him for a moment, as if assessing how resolute Dee was to gain some answers to his questions, and then motioned to the blond woman, who began brewing a fresh pot of coffee without any further prompting.

"I thought you wouldn't remember much from last evening. The woman making coffee behind me is Diana Spacey, and I'm Randy McLane. This Doc Campbell we speak of is a retired physician that usually submits his assistance when any of the Resistance members' injuries are beyond basic first aid."

"That's not your real name," Dee stated matter-of-factly, ignoring the mystifying reference to a Resistance, light smile playing about the corners of his mouth as he watched the man's reaction, noting how hot-tempered this Randy was indeed…

"Excuse me? I do know who I am," Randy practically spit back, casting a leveled glare in the obnoxious man's direction, pondering silently that perhaps picking up this Dee would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Ah, but there's where you're mistaken, because I do vaguely recall you from the park tonight, though at the time I was barely able to focus, I do know you were and are of mixed heritage, maybe American and something else…something oriental, correct?"

Randy said nothing to confirm this, but his lips were pressed thin and white in a obvious strained effort to not reach across the table and throttle Dee, instead of following through on his sudden discontent, he looked away, locking his one good eye on the wall just above the Dee's skull.

As Diana set two cups of coffee on the kitchen table, she grinned at the wounded man, taking a seat when the strained silence went on for more than a few moments. "You're very right, for Randy is Japanese-American and as such, he has a Japanese name as well, but he'd rather you call him by his American one though. He may not look it yet Ryo can be so testy at times."

Despite the intense glower on Randy's face grounded in her direction, Diana remained happily oblivious as she sipped from her cup of coffee casually, while Dee snatched up the moniker with gusto. "Aha! So, your name is Ryo. That's what I'm calling you from now on, Ryo."

"Are you trying to piss me off? Because you're doing a right fine job of it!" His hands slammed down upon the tabletop with such force, the mugs full of liquid threatened to spill over. After making sure none of the coffee had indeed spilt, Diana looked up at Randy with impossibly wide eyes, quite astonished this man Dee had gotten underneath his skin so swiftly. "Jeez, getting violent with me already, are you? I don't usually get that until the second date."

Diana coughed and sputtered on her drink, trying to clear her throat and not break into laughter simultaneously. Dee was flirting with Randy, of all people, and actually getting a response (not a very positive one but a response nonetheless). Whenever any man or woman in the past had made such an overture, the man would freeze up, and say nothing in answer.

Besides, hadn't Dee given her a fine look over after turning from Randy? Ah…the man swung both ways. _Very interesting_, Diana noted as she observed Randy's slowly reddening face before he closed his eyes, counted up to twenty underneath his breath, and then deposited himself in the chair once again, all hints of anger no longer evident in his body language.

Without further ado or any type of forewarning, Randy began speaking, providing the explanation Dee, it seemed, could not do without. Whether it was just the experience he had recently been through, or pure curiosity, Diana couldn't help but feel pity for the wounded man; for she could practically feel cracks begin to run down the length of Dee's world, and shatter into a million crystalline pieces around them. _And so another is brought into the fold…_  
  
**To Be Continued…**  
  
(1) Berwerker/ ber-weker is one of two Norse words for werewolf. Better than werewolf anyway…  
(2)An abbreviation of the aforementioned term berwerker.  
(3)A light poke of fun not meant to offend anyone. Hopefully ;


	3. Trigger Happy

_Author's Note: Not much in the way of notes, other than to say this, flashbacks are indicated as suchwhile the radio chatter contained within is noted by this #symbol#; italics represent an emphasized word. _

[Written between December 21st of 2002 to the of January]

[Last edited July 5th of 2004]  
  
**_Disclaimer: _****_Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, all original characters contained within belong to me (not that it matters much in the end)._****__**

---------------------------------------------

****

"Mad Season" Chapter Three: Trigger Happy 

Another white cylinder joined its kin amongst the gray-colored ashtray on the kitchen table, the cigarettes nearly overflowing in the dish, as Dee crushed the cancer stick against the thick plate of glass, gaze focused on a nonexistent spot of air nearby. His mind was frenzied, full with words and images that he couldn't yet begin to decipher, and hadn't the heart to commence starting.

The pain of his shoulder had faded, lost in a wave of intense confusion and utter dismissal. Words slipped out his mouth unwittingly as his fingers plucked yet another cigarette from the nearly desolate carton, and drew it to his mouth, brow narrowed in concentration on the events that had taken place in the very room he was currently situated in not two hours ago.

"Damn you, Ryo…" The scarred man had been anything but courteous, compliant, kind, gentle with his words, laying echelon upon echelon of information as if it was the mere history of a person, and not the origin and chronicle of werewolves. Werewolf, berwerker, guerulfus, vargulf, ulfhedhnar, barenhauter, loup-garou, lobarraz, upo-manaro, brukolakas, whichever nonsense name that man had uttered to describe the creature that he had happened upon while in Central Park last evening.

"Whatever takes place during the next few days, until you prove yourself to be indeed harmless, you are not leaving this apartment. Do not attempt to try and escape, as you will not like the consequences. I hold no qualms about breaking a few limbs when necessary; you'd do best to commit that to memory, Dee."

The scarred man was fucking insane, delusional, anything word associated with crazy fit Ryo to a "t." He could swallow the history Ryo had provided well enough, but to even imply that his wound might become infected, and his body mutate into one of those creatures was beyond impossible, what strained the element of believability was that the blonde woman, Diana, had nodded her little head each time Dee's gaze swung upon her, agreeing with every word Ryo had said, committed.

"There are two types of werkers in existence. The one you encountered tonight is what we call a corporeal, or corpo for short, the physical manifestation of a werewolf. Their nests are relatively easy to locate but to bring harm on them is extremely difficult. They may have the body of a beast, but their minds are human, intelligence isn't unknown to them, and quite common. Locating a single werker is nearly impractical, as they blend into human society so completely, comparing the work to finding a needle is a haystack is too close for comfort.

The second type is of the psychological sort, you'll find them among the ill minded, rapists, criminals, any category of persons with diseased intents and such. They have not the ability to literally mutate into a beast but their minds closely resemble said creature. Examples of these werkers are Zodiac, Richard Speck, Thierry Paulin, Michael Lupo, Henry Lee Lucas, Fritz Haarmann, Albert Fish, Elizabeth Bathory, Sgt. Francois Bertrand…If you've not recognized any of these people, do Jack the Ripper, William Brodie Deacon, or Marquis de Sade (1) ring a bell?

Adolf Hitler himself was a victim of manic lycanthropic states, though history has done its work, and these facts have been turned into widespread stories that many historians believe is now fiction. Human society has stumbled upon this type of monster eons ago, and as such, werkers have been punished, executed, subdued in countless ways."

"And how will you subdue me?" Dee muttered to himself, as he reclined in the kitchen chair, lit cigarette tittering dangerously on his lips, arms outstretched as far as pained shoulder would allow, and head thrown back, resting on the hard wood of the frame of the chair comfortably. His features were set in a deep scowl, brow messed and disturbed, troubled eyes darkened with shadows, a near match to the darkness of the room he passively sat in.

"The creature you happened upon earlier this evening was a werker, exhausted and wounded, but one nonetheless. I do not know why it did not strike out at you when it first approached you, but when we arrived on the scene, it struck you across the chest and skull, therefore marking you, infecting you with the virus we call lycanthropy. Whether the infection takes root in your system or not, I don't know. Each individual's body is different in many ways, sometimes defeating an alien contagion, or succumbing to the invasion, but do heed this warning, Dee, if you begin to display any signs of the change, I will take your life before you can become a threat to the Resistance and me.

"I do not need to ask what lingers on your mind, for it is plainly etched in your expression. Let me guess, Randy dropped the bombshell and left you to find your answers about the werkers and your injury."

Dee turned his gaze to the darkened doorway, taking in the young man who leaned his hip onto the wooden frame, arms crossed against his chest and an expression akin to amusement playing about on his face. A bit shorter than Dee's own height, with a medium built but he looked no less capable of taking care of himself in a moment of chaos. As Dee's eyes raked across a mane of cropped dark hair, the stranger moved into the kitchen and took hold of one of kitchen chairs, turning the seat around and straddling the back frame of the piece of furniture. Light toned eyes blinked before a hand was held out across the table, and a smile spread across the man's lips.

"Jeremy Adams, otherwise known as J.J., a rather active member of the Resistance. I am to understand you're the man we found wounded in the park. How are you enjoying our hospitality so far, Mr. Laytner?"

Said man stared sullenly at Jeremy, pointedly ignoring the outstretched hand before him, off-handedly flicking a bit of gray ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray on the surface of the table before chuckling to himself, the bitter tone of angst clear in the throated sound. "How am I enjoying it? I've been put under fucking house arrest, and been told the world has, and is inhabited by werewolves, one of which could have infected me with lycanthropy, and threatened more times than I can count by the leader of your organization, Ryo. Not exactly the kind of treatment I'm fond of, J.J."

A slight narrowing of eyes, perhaps in anger or irritation was the only response J.J. gave, the only signal he'd absorbed Dee's words, and indeed understood them. Then the younger man sighed, long, and heavy before speaking, "Randy doesn't mean to be intentionally cruel, Dee. But in this line of work, he has to be calculating, knowledgeable, unrelenting and practical."

"Practical is just another word for heartless," Dee commented shortly, crushing the butt of his cigarette against the ashtray, and pressing his back more firmly against the kitchen chair. His shoulder had begun to burn once again, drawing him from the peaceful recesses of his mind, and generating focus on his injury, which he'd been pointedly disregarding just fine until this moment.

"Until you know the whole of a man's history, don't draw judgment upon him. Neither me or any members of the Resistance know how the scars on his face came about, and he hasn't volunteered the information, merely stays calm and collected in that shell of his, brooding. Besides, if he hadn't wrought this organization into existence, lives would have suffered needlessly, even more so if any of the people became infected with lycanthropy."

"Why do you fight alongside him?" J.J.'s eyes became haunted, clouded with some darkness he'd rather not recall, or voice out loud to the wounded stranger across from him. The arms, which he'd been leaning carelessly against the top of the chair, dropped, and his gaze turned a small distance from Dee's own curious one, before he answered the man's inquiry. "Everyone has their reasons. The event that spurred my induction into the Resistance was bit more horrific than most…"

J.J. paused for a moment then after a brief nod to himself, continued in a clear, forced emotionless tone, one that comes when someone has evoked a memory more times than he'd care for. "My lover came home one evening, sporting a rather large claw mark on his leg that I tended to immediately, asking no questions as to how it had come about. Sean had been a bit of a loner before I had come along, speaking with actions rather than words, so I'd adapted as best as I could, asking no unneeded questions.

"Everything seemed fine until he'd begun acting a bit abnormal no more than a week later, sweating profusely in his sleep, becoming transfixed upon viewing crimson items, a little rougher than normal during intercourse. But it was Sean's dreams that were the worse, the whimpering, whining, yells, almost like he was battling against an enemy, and losing more every day.

"What clinched it though was- it's rather hard to talk about even after two years' time. Sean had initiated sex, which wasn't a rare thing in itself, but halfway through, he had begun convulsing, forming at the mouth. To make a long story short, he transformed in our very bedroom. My reaction, of course, was a bit on the panic-stricken side, frozen motionless as he crept away quietly yet swiftly into the darkness of the night. Sean hadn't vanished without leaving evidence of his change though, as he had broken my leg and a few other select bones whilst making the change on top of me. Not a week later, while I was recovering in the hospital, Randy approached me, offering me the chance to end my lover's misery, by doing away with his life, and I did not hesitate in my decision. After exterminating my first werker, formerly my lover, I continued in the line of work because I was making a difference, no matter how meager. And that was how I became introduced to this life."

"_Shit_."

"Indeed," J.J. replied coming to his feet, and placing the chair, he'd been occupying back to its former position. Briefly, he squeezed Dee's good shoulder and then exited the room leaving the wounded man to his thoughts, however disturbed they had become after hearing of his first experience.

-----------------------------------------------------

            The sewer system of New York City was everything they'd expected it to be, grimy, dirty, the ramparts encased in a fluid Randy was hesitant to call slime, but by the discolored tint of the substance and slippery texture, he was about to concede. As his hand slipped over the tunnel wall they were currently traveling in; they being himself, Berkeley, Drake, and J.J, he suppressed a grimace, very much wishing this nest of werkers they'd targeted hadn't decided to call one of these many tunnels their home. Tapping the radio headset he wore, he spoke into the small microphone not two inches from his mouth, informing the group of hunters the direction in which they would continue next.

            After a moment of sharp radio feedback, his voice came out clear, if a bit muffled, #If I'm correct, we're to go left at the next corner. Then we continue ahead for a short span before hitting the area the werkers are supposed to be situated in. Does everyone copy that? #

            Berkeley Rose's smooth baritone replied first, #Roger. I'm on alert. Who's going to take the front position? # If within the Resistance, there was a second in command, the older man took the rank suitably enough as he often took charge when Randy was occupied or no longer able to take proper responsibility of the organization.

            He stood a few inches above Randy's own frame, broad-shouldered and very capable of defending himself against harm, if the light of the sewers weren't so severe and the night vision goggles they were currently equitted with limiting, one could see the short dishwater blonde hair upon the crown of his head and dark blue eyes that always looked into the distance, spotting familiar shapes when no one else's gaze could pierce so far.

            J.J., who'd put some distance between the rest of the group and his person, tore his gaze from the sewer corner ahead, readjusting the large weapon positioned against his shoulder and chest, to look back, taking note of the three human shaped forms that trailed behind him. The cold dirtied water continued to rush just above his knees, no doubt soaking the jeans he'd worn to the very fiber with substances unknown. #I'll take it; I'm far enough ahead anyway. The corner just coming up, are we to go left, or right? #

            The man just one foot behind him sighed heavily, briefly rolling his eyes before inputting his words in a teasing tone over the radio headset, #Left, J.J. Or did you leave your brain behind at Randy's apartment again? # Drake Parker was one of newest recruits among the Resistance, though he and J.J. had become considerably close, forming a bond that normally took weeks to generate, which also put him in Randy's good graces, as the leader of their organization had a tendency to be a bit of a icy bastard to those who hadn't yet proved their worth.

            He stood just an inch above J.J., his frame built a bit more broadly, with dark brown hair cut just below his ears, and light blue eyes which were currently scanning every inch of the area ahead of them for any lurking shapes, ever aware the creatures they were putting themselves against were considerably stronger and swifter.

            #Oh, ha ha, very funny. Don't make me give in to temptation, and leave you at the werkers' mercy. #

            #Like they'd listen to you in the first place, o' wise one; it's amazing that you can function on so few brain cells as it is. #

            Berkeley threw a glance over his shoulder; curious look landing upon the face of Randy who was frowning profusely, most likely a bit peeved Drake and J.J. had abandoned their subdued manner, and reverted back to normal behavior.

            Smiling lightly, Berkeley cleared his throat, pressing the small mouthpiece against his Adam's apple as he did so, making certain the sound carried into the radio and captured his fellow Resistance members' attention. #Oh, boys, father's getting angry at his sons' immature behavior. Rein in the witty repartee and concentrate on the task ahead of us before he gets even more bad-tempered than usual. #

            A light nervous chuckle carried over the wavelength, before J.J. visibly jumped, pressing his lean frame against the slime-encased rampart as he closed his eyes, and put trust into his excellent hearing rather than his eyes which weren't of much use in darkness such as this, even with night vision goggles.

            Two odd sound patterns that most definitely weren't human were slowly weaving in their direction, one of which sounded a bit ragged and run down. Excellent. Perhaps the two werkers wouldn't put up much of a struggle, as others of their kind generally had a habit of doing, employing every tactic and muscle they could make use of. #Two coming from the north, they'll probably be here in less than five minutes. What's the plan? #

#Drake, be ready to turn on the floodlight you've been lugging all this way when I say so, then waste no time in putting some distance between you and the werkers, they will go after the source of light so put those nimble legs of yours to good use, understood? # Randy instructed curtly, limbs begin to tire swiftly as he hurried ahead in haste to provide J.J. with some much-needed back up, and formulating a strategy all the while in the back of his mind.

#Berkeley, J.J., and I will fire a rain of bullets upon the targets, which will hopefully take out all the fight in one fell swoop, as even two werkers can't stand against the force of three fully loaded AR-15 rifles. #

            Without another spoken word, the men assembled before the tunnel opening, Randy and J.J. taking the front while Berkeley and Drake stood at their right and left two feet behind them, what few fire arms they had on their person aimed as stable as possible. They maintained the illusion of calm anticipation while on the inside of each, a war of chaos reigned, differing between excitement and dread, and in the middle of all the disorder lay a faint string of concealed hope that no tragedies befell them on this night.

------------------------------------------

            Dee pressed himself farther against the wintry pane of glass behind him, suppressing a shudder when the surface made contact with his flesh, immediately drawing goose bumps upon his flesh, and a soft gasp from his mouth. The blonde woman who was currently stripping off the worn bandages situated on his shoulder and chest stifled a chuckle, already having drawn the conclusion the man wasn't one for having belittling comments thrown his way; however, her eyes glittered with amusement, and while her hands continued to move across Dee's person, she smirked to herself, as she began to reach for some antiseptic, and the fresh roll of bandages sitting nearby on the toilet lid next to the pair.

            The wounded man had fervently denied assistance with the redressing of his injuries until a sharp yelp of pain had fallen through the bathroom door, and Diana, curiosity winning out over caution, had investigated the noise to find Dee sitting miserably on the bathroom counter, tape twisted about his torso and a stack of gauze held between his teeth. After her brief fit of laughter, Diana had taken over the task, ignoring the sullen looks, and discontented body language of the man, focused intently on redressing his wounds without causing him much pain. "Where did the rest of them go off to?"

            Diana shifted her head, gauging Dee's sincerity and the harsh tone in which the question had been spoken in, as she was well aware he wasn't happy to be put under horse arrest, but considering the situation, and the possible consequences if they didn't act accordingly, they hadn't much choice but to take that course of action.

As she drew the last piece of needed medical tape, she spoke, "Hunting. The werker who managed to wound you was just one of a nest, located little over a mile underground, in New York City's very own sewage system. We've been tracking them for over a month, just coming about the nest a week ago, entirely by accident. The Resistance keeps a constant tab on the sewers, as they're the ideal place for berwerkers to flee if wounded or just running scared."

            As she finished placing the tape, the blonde woman stepped back; allowing Dee room to maneuver when he had began to shift uncomfortably. "One of the Resistance's members followed one of the beasts' trail after a failed hunt, and discovered it, reporting the incident the next day and therefore providing our next target. While New York City is one of the biggest cities in the world, there are other places with much more werker activity than this one."

            Dee moved stiffly, and leisurely, teeth gritted as he reached for the black flannel shirt Randy had been gracious enough to let the man borrow, and shoved his arms into the piece of material, paying no heed to the ache that seized his chest when his fingers began to travel up the line of buttons. "Do you mind letting me in on your operations so I at least have some idea how your little organization works? Ryo wasn't exactly willing to divulge information on it."

            "I'm not sure that's a very good idea, Dee. If your condition worsens instead of…"

            Dee scoffed angrily as he shoved past the half-open bathroom door, knocking aside a few towels from the steel bar lying near the bathroom wall and paying no heed as they tumbled to the tiled floor. His face was shadowed with intense agitation, with a thread of weariness buried beneath the stoic expression.

Before he could repress the action, common sense was smashed to mere shivers, and he practically snarled out the words, unhappiness and loathing an almost living creature in his tone, "You're all on the same goddamn proverbial script! Can you speak just once without reminding me that I might turn into one of miserable beasts? My mind's been haunted by nothing but remnants of Ryo's lecture all day as it is. If I'd only been located elsewhere when all this shit began happening, I would never have had to suffer through this ordeal at all. Why the hell did I enter that damn park anyway? It's no-"

            His voice dropped off abruptly as the wounded man crumpled to the floor, muscled arms grasped tightly around his nearby knees, and face buried in the denim material that bound his lower torso.

Diana was hesitant to make any motion, as his outburst had been unexpected, and while she pitied the man, if she allowed her heart to overcome her psyche, she would suffer as well as Dee, if he had indeed been infected with lycanthrony. However, her body acted of it's own will when a soft sound, muffled futilely by Dee, echoed through the living room, and as her arms came to gather around his sullen figure, she belatedly deduced the noise had sounded suspiciously like a sob.

            She already knew her heart had overridden her common sense, holding the man ever closer to her as he surrendered to one of humanity's baser desires, the ability to project sadness, salty wetness trailing down his face as the meager pieces of Dee's world broken earlier only one night ago were compacted repeatedly, the lingering shivers grinded into a fine translucent dust that would no doubt be swept away when the breeze rode high enough.

            "Sorry," Diana muttered, more to herself than the man clutching desperately at her person, words sounding hollow even to her own ears. "I'm so sorry…"

**To Be Continued…**

(1) Regarding this and any other names mentioned, they're all killers, rapists, or any sort of individual involved in acts described as gruesome in the pages of history, though William Brodie Deacon might be pushing it a little since he was the inspiration behind Robert Louis Stevenson's novel "The Strange Case of Dr. Jerkyll and Mr. Hyde."  


	4. Omens

Author's Note: I'm well aware the plot has been minimal (my weakest point in writing) but with this chapter, one appears or so I hope (perhaps a bit of foreshadowing). Comments, as always, will be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).

[Written off and on between February 20th to May 15th of 2003]

[Last edited July 6th of 2004]

--------------------------------------------------

"Mad Season" Chapter Four: Omens 

            Diana Spacer sat against the solid surface of the bedroom door, too buried in her own musings to acknowledge the twist of a familiar lock, and the pale hand that slowly pushed open the apartment door, even when footfalls fell nearby, she blinked once, twice, and then focused on the present, glancing upwards into the handsome yet scarred face of Randy, who stood silently over her person, an altogether unhappy presence if she was reading his mood correctly.

            Some part of the evening's proceedings had obviously gone very wrong, as most of Randy's shirt was covered in blood and one sleeve of the clothing had been completely torn away, his jeans had spatters of blood on them as well. Diana was up and onto her feet within a second, examining the stoic man quickly before making to retrieve the first-aid kit they always had situated somewhere in the apartment, which often served as the base of operations for the Resistance.

A firm hand grabbed hold of her wrist and held the blonde woman immobile, before Randy's quiet voice rang out in the strained silence, answering her inquiry before Diana had time to utter it. "I'm fine. It's Berkeley you should be pouring your affections over; he's the one who got his damn femoral artery cut."

            "Is he…"

            "He's alive. But he needs his fiancée rather badly at the moment so I do suggest you collect your things and be on your way shortly. J.J. and Drake are already at the hospital, standing guard in case the werker who did the damage is idiotic enough to come and finish the job. I am to assume Dee is asleep in the bedroom?"

             The blonde woman fell into silence before answering, as she was still processing the information Randy had provided. Brushing aside a stray strand of blonde hair, Diana regarded the Resistance leader for a silent moment and then slipped an arm inside her coat. Off-handedly, she related Randy of the evening's events, leaving out Dee's emotional breakdown, as she didn't think said man would appreciate anyone else holding knowledge of the incident. As she pushed against the apartment door, Diana glanced back, catching Randy's attention with a shrill whistle.

            "About Dee…even if he eventually poses a threat, at least attempt to be civil to him during the next few days. He's not the only one who's suffering."

            Randy gazed after the woman's departing figure for some time before shaking his head and quietly treading into the bedroom, taking extra care to not disturb the man slumbering in the room, though part of himself was irritated Dee hadn't settled on the couch residing in the living room instead. As he pitched his bloodied shirt to the hardwood floor, the body in his bed shifted suddenly, drawing Randy out of the reverie he had unconsciously fallen into. Well aware he should be heading into the bathroom for a much-needed shower, the scarred man found himself instead coming to the edge of the bed, his legs bumping for a brief instant against the wooden frame.

            Pale fingers treaded through sleep-mussed hair, before trailing down towards the rest of Dee's features, Randy's hand pausing only as it slid onto the rough texture of the wounded man's bandages, then soft gray eyes went wide as the Japanese-American took note of just what he was doing, and almost angrily, he stepped away, unknowingly knocking aside the phone set which rested just right of the bed.

            As Randy set off for the bathroom, a pair of emerald eyes opened briefly before closing once again almost smugly, as if appreciating the gestures the older man had unconsciously made and was quite content to keep the happenings secret until they could be put to better use sometime later. The smile curving Dee's lips widened into a smirk, and as he drifted back to sleep, he had a spare thought that perhaps everything that had come about in these last few days wasn't all bad.

-----------------------------------------

            Slender fingers reached out to grasp the hand that lay limply against the white hospital sheet, and intertwined with said fingers; so different from her own they were, callused and well-worn. Diana brought the hand to her face, pressing her other hand tightly against Berkeley's, and watched for any signs of awakening on her fiancé's part. It had been three hours since the man had been operated on, and still he slept on, completely obvious to the world and it's current happenings.

            The clock had just stuck three in the morning when a hand pushed open the room door, and J.J. poked his head in, gaze coming to rest on the form of Diana worriedly. Walking across the length of the room, the Resistance member leveled a cup of steaming coffee in front of the woman's face, and upon seeing the brief smile that appeared, responded in kind.

            Diana was silent for the space of five minutes, as the constant beeping that accompanied Berkeley's breathing had fast become beyond irritating, and the strain of the silence between her and J.J. was unbearable. "I despise wandering about in the darkness of doubt, J.J., just tell me what took place earlier this evening. I will not place blame on anyone, as you well know; accidents happen without anyone prompting them, and as long as others tried to prevent it, I do not care on whose shoulders lies the blame."

            His eyes downcast, from guilt or shame (Diana could not choose which best suited the expression on the man's face), and when J.J. spoke, his tone were clipped, detached, as if he did not want emotion to cloud the impact of his words. "The reconnaissance of the werkers nest did veer off plan, as I had mistakenly informed the others there were only two of the creatures wandering around, where in reality there were three total. Therefore, the blame lies partly with me but also with Drake, who tripped as he was scurrying away with the floodlight, and when one of the werkers was about to maul him, Berkeley stepped in and accidentally got clipped in the leg by the werker.

            "When Randy realized what had occurred, he quickly came to the wounded man's aid, emptying his weapon into the creature that had attacked his second-in-command before tending Berkeley's leg as best he could. We finished the trio of werkers off, but just barely, and by the time we returned to the surface, your fiancé had already passed out, and was losing more blood than we could starch with our emergency medical supplies."

            The blonde woman was still for so long, J.J. reached out to take hold of her shoulder, only to recede sharply when Diana stood, her face etched in bare contained fury and a thread of intense angst, just when it looked she was about to speak, no yell, a smooth baritone inserted itself in the air, and caught the woman's attention instead. Almost frantically, Diana dropped to her previous position; the only change in her manner the tightened hold in which Diana gripped Berkeley's hand.

            "Diana…I willingly stepped into the werker's reach, and have only myself to blame for letting it injure me this severely. So do calm your fury and frustration, and save it for a night when it will be better appreciated," Berkeley muttered lowly, his voice barely a notch above hearable. His face was pale, and one could almost see the lines of exhaustion that weaved themselves in his body, not to mention mind.

            Her green eyes wide and glassy, the blonde woman just nodded mutely before resting her head just below Berkeley's chin, and a few moments had only gone by before a sniffle echoed amongst the small room. Not one to miss a beat, J.J. grinned reassuringly at his fellow Resistance member, and then after patting Diana's shoulder softly left the couple to their own business, where no doubt, sentiments would be traded and feelings reaffirmed; that is, after Diana's well of tears had been drained dry.  

--------------------------------------------

He was aware of a sudden sharp pain in his chest, the agony so intense Dee was afraid he would pass out, but the pain left his chest and then continued on its trail throughout his body, bringing the man to his knees, and causing dark shadows to overcome his vision. The pain melted away, and twisted in a kind of odd comfort, which remedied the fierce force that had occupied his body moments ago, soothing the patches of raw tenderness. Dee's breath shuddered when the bones and muscles in his hand shifted, forming into a new and strange skeletal structure that would soon replace his human one.

_At a total loss for words, the raven-haired man realized he should have been terrified, scared, in some way panicked about this sudden change, but none of these feelings could Dee seek out and cling to. Even as the rest of his body surrendered to the alien invader inside himself, a sense of peace had taken place in him, and he relished in each change, each re-knitting of bones, each new bliss that was inflicted. _

_When he felt the process was complete, he opened his eyes and felt a remaining piece of his human mind revel in the new world he had entered. Dee had to but inhale, and he could tell exactly how many animals, and humans had scuffled past this place in the woods. A human had died here perhaps a month ago, the blood contained in the body leaving a distinct mark and odor, which told of how the human had died in startling detail._

_The lingering echo of a howl drew Dee's attention, and he felt small muscles in his ear prick up and try to trace the sound as it floated by on the night air. His new mouth grinned, though it may have seemed to a human a grimace, and he began weaving his way towards his fellow brothers and sisters. _     

A soft but insistent jabbing in the space of his shoulder slowly drew Dee out of his dream, and back into the world he so wished had not changed drastically, and for the worst it seemed, at the rate things were crumpling. A cold white eye twitched and focused on him, before Dee came to realize it was Randy who had awaken him, and was grounding an exasperated glare in his direction.

With a sharp intake of air, he sat up, the details of the dream he'd been having slipping out of his grasp swiftly, though he tried to take hold the pieces and found they had already abandoned him. The scarred man was moving about in the room (his bedroom, the raven-haired man realized belatedly), and Dee barely caught the pile of clothes that were thrown in his face, before Randy exited the room, disregarding the other's man inquiries like he wasn't even there.

Muttering to himself, Dee made use of the bathroom, and dressed swiftly, stopping only to brush his teeth and wash his face before he continued onto the small kitchen. He paused in the doorway though, as he caught sight of Randy tracing a hand down his bare chest (he'd not deigned to don a shirt yet), and among the pale skin, there were patches of scar tissue, in the shape of a jagged knife edge or something of the kind.

Feeling a bit like a peeping tom, Dee walked into the room nosily, purposely letting his foot catch at one of the chairs' leg near the table. The Resistance leader only muttered underneath his breath, and began the process of making some breakfast, or rather lunch, Dee realized as he spied the time on the digital clock on the stove.

"Where's the rest of your cohorts?" The younger man asked bluntly, too exhausted, despite over twelve hours of sleep, to put the question tactfully. Besides, given Randy's temperament towards Dee, he doubted the man cared whether or not he was treated with or without respect.

Randy broke a few eggs before replying, dumping the empty cracked shells into a nearby trashcan. "The Resistance's activities, such as cleaning out werker nests, are done strictly on a volunteer basis. Those cohorts you speak of also hold jobs, some of which are conducted during the day, though some of the members in the organization prefer to stay away from the combat, and fund our efforts instead, which is perfectly fine with me, as long as they assist us in some way. To date, we have over five hundred members in the Resistance, though only less than two hundred of them offer their services to aid us in doing the kil-exterminating."

Stunned by the amount of information the Randy had revealed, Dee sat back farther in his chair, wondering just how long the Resistance has been in existence and how many werkers had had their life snuffed out by their members. A ghost of a smile curled Randy's lips as he turned to grab a few plates from the cabinets above Dee's head, and the raven-haired man had the distinct impression the older man was taking some measure of enjoyment in revealing the information he had, as if he reveled in Dee's reactions.

"Though if you're asking of Diana and gang, they should be arriving from the hospital soon since I received a phone call from them last night, telling me of Berkeley's return to the world. It's good news as the man is a very dedicated member of the Resistance, and I relay on him for various tasks."

Was it his imagination or was Randy actually being helpful and friendly of his own free will? An unexpected chill ran down his spine, and Dee averted his eyes as the scarred man placed a plate of scrambled eyes in front of him, which had not a scrap of brown on them as they usually did when Dee attempted to make them. Nodding his head in thanks, he had just started to consume the food when a remnant of his earlier dream came unbidden, flooding his vision for a moment, and replacing the white walls of the kitchen with the trees and bushes of a forest. The fork in his left hand cluttered onto the plate, and the sound shattered the visage, the kitchen returning as it was.

The tension in the air rose and before any of the men could speak, the apartment door opened, and Diana and J.J. entered, chattering loudly, which slowly dropped away coming upon the scene in the kitchen. The silence stretched on until Randy stood, offering the two remaining chairs at the table, and gesturing to the food sitting on the oven. J.J. glanced between the pair of men questionably, but could find no evidence for the tension-laden atmosphere, or the stunned expression that currently graced Dee's face, like he'd been the witness to a horrible crime.

"I just brewed some coffee as well, if any of you feel the need to consume some of the stuff. Since last night was so hectic, I only managed to get up an hour ago, and had to wake Dee up not 20 minutes ago as well," Randy explained in a rush of words, seating himself at the table at the end of his spiel. Diana helped herself to some of the coffee, and sat at the table as well, holding the hot beverage as if it was water after a long drought. Perhaps the coffee at the hospital was as terrible as was rumored?    

"How is your fiancé holding up?" The question was so soft-spoken; Diana had to look up to confirm it was indeed Dee who had inquired about Berkeley's health, and not one of her fellow Resistance members. Averting her eyes, she watched as the creamer she had stirred but a moment ago in her cup of coffee, separated from the dark substance and gathered on the surface, forming a thick white discharge.

Absentmindedly, her hand took hold of the spoon laying nearby on the table surface and dragged the piece of metal through the drink, while she spoke, her tone equally soft-spoken, "As well as he can be, what with everything's that has occurred these last few days. The doctor who is tending to him says he'll need to stay at least another week in the hospital until he can return home."

             "However, Randy, there is something I wish to discuss with you in private, if it is possible," Diana added, almost as an afterthought after her eyes had scanned the bodies which occupied the chairs around the kitchen table. Still dazed from the brief vision he'd glimpsed, Dee offered no resistance to the tan hand of J.J.'s that tugged him from the kitchen and onto the couch in the living room.

            When his mind finally came up to speed with his body, Dee started briefly before reflecting on the blonde woman's words, and coming to the conclusion it had something to do with what had occurred the night before, and what could be done to prevent the event from repeating again in the future.

As J.J. seated himself beside Dee, he rubbed the back of his neck in silent distress and no doubt, frustration. Diana's tears, considering the circumstances, had not been surprising but the serious tone in which she'd inflicted her words with, worried him. About to embark on another line of thought, the younger man was a bit startled to hear Dee's voice ring out among the silence that had stretched between the pair.                             "About Sean…if you don't mind my asking, what symptoms did he display before making the change to a werker?" The frown surrounding J.J.'s mouth only became deeper, as he caught sight of the raven-haired man's troubled expression, and creased brow. "As long as the question is theoretical, and not personal, I don't mind paying an answer to your question. It is theoretical, is it not, Dee?"

At said man's slightly hesitant nod, J.J. continued in monotone, the information obviously something he'd committed to memory and repeated several times. "The symptoms vary for some individuals, though the main ones are a fascination for crimson objects, blood lust in a harder term, heavy perspiration in the most simple of tasks, disturbing or abnormal dreams, a severe reaction to the touch of silver, hallucinations, and finally transforming underneath the moon's various cycles, the full moon being the most dominant of them all."

Dee's face did nothing if not farther fall into distress, and J.J. snaked an arm around the man's shoulders before taking his hand and turning Dee's face to meet his gaze gently. "It wasn't a theoretical question, was it? All right, since we are practically by ourselves, why don't you tell me what you experienced before it eats you alive?"

At first, J.J. was sure Dee would keep the information to himself but suddenly the shadow that had taken root in his expression lifted, and Dee told of the dream and the hallucination that had taken grip of him in the kitchen before he and Diana had arrived. J.J.'s reaction was one of surprise but he quickly swallowed the expression and struggled to maintain a neutral face.

It would not do for him to add to the raven-haired man's distress and less-than-solid beliefs. Dee had only told him of his experiences because he obviously put some trust into J.J., and that the Resistance member would not repeat what he revealed anywhere else.

"Don't assume the worst already, Dee. You have been under a lot of stress these past few days, and it would only be natural for a number of odd things to happen at once. Often, the victims of werker attacks are indeed unstable for a week or more before falling back into a normal routine. Besides, I would think it'd be cabin fever for the amount of time you've been cooped up in this apartment. I'll make a note to speak to Randy about letting you have some fresh air."

For the first time since he had awoken, Dee smiled, and after giving J.J. a brief hug, he stood and headed into the bathroom to heed the call of nature. Unnoticed, the grin on the J.J.'s face slipped, and he resumed rubbing the back of his neck, stopping only when he realized the amount of pressure he was putting behind the action. Some symptoms were making themselves known, and if circumstances continued to slide in the same direction, the Resistance might have another werker to take responsibility of in the near future.

------------------------------------------------------

            "I'll speak plainly and clear, Randy, for I do not want you to interpret my words in the wrong way. As the song goes, I must be cruel to be kind, I suppose," Diana said after taking a sip of her now luke-warm coffee. Then she treaded her hands together, and met the level stare of Randy's eye, which she noted looked apprehensive, if a bit curious. Unwilling to procrastinate further, she spoke curtly and hurriedly, the words a near rush, and it was with some amazement Diana realized Randy had indeed understood them.

            "As of this moment, Berkeley and I wish to resign from the Resistance. With everything that has happened in the past, and now in the present, we've decided it would be best if we exited dangerous activities altogether, such as the attacks on and from werkers. I'm very sorry but I don't wish to get married to a corpse, Randy, and neither does Berkeley."       

            "Even if that corpse had fought valiantly and hard, given their life for a good cause?" Randy asked, voice neutral though his eyes had became hard with repressed anger, and the hand in which he gripped his coffee cup trembled minutely before stopping altogether; the calm before the fury. 

            "Even if," Diana confirmed resolutely, the only evident sign she was in turmoil was the hand that drew the end edge of her dress shirt repeatedly through her fingers in a simple pattern. A long-suffering sigh was the only response at her words from Randy, and when the blonde woman dared to raise her eyes, a hint of a smile was playing about the man's lips, the anger she had seen hints of all but vanished.

"Quite the history that has built up between us, isn't it? I believe it has been at least six years, if I'm recalling the number correctly. I understand your reasons, and as I have no one to call my own, and could not possibly grasp all you feel, I will grant your request, as long as I can speak to Berkeley in private and indeed confirm he wants the same thing you do."

            Diana, more than a little stunned, finally processed the scarred man's words, and within a moment was up and hugging Randy as tight as she could. Surprised, the Resistance leader merely patted her arm awkwardly until she released him, and allowed oxygen to finally enter his lungs once again.

Heaving a deep breath, Randy stood, depositing his empty coffee cup into the kitchen sink, and headed into the living room where the sight of J.J. and Dee embracing made him give pause. The two could not have possibly grown so close, so fast, could they? Randy was well-aware of J.J.'s preferences, holding a little of them himself, but was questionably confused when it came to figuring out Dee's own sexual orientation. He'd feasted on the sight of Diana, and then flirted, or rather teased Randy upon awakening from his injuries.

So, the man was bi then, or very recipient to eye-opening experiences, which after a moment of thought, Randy doubted, as Dee seemed very blunt and honest in his own manner. When the man in question walked past him, the scarred man wondered if Dee remembered any of his actions the night before, and if he had minded them.

            "Would you like to accompany us back to the hospital, Randy? I'm sure Berkeley would not mind in the least if you put in a visit, or at least brought flowers of some kind. Though he would most likely dispose of them after you left, since too many of the things clutter his room as it is," Diana said lightheartedly, taking hold of her jacket before opening the apartment door and glancing back at the Resistance leader.

J.J.'s gaze swung between the pair wildly, picking up on the thin thread of tension that became heavier with each passing moment. Finally, Randy nodded stiffly, and after informing Dee of where he would be, and how the man could reach him, walked out the door with Diana, leaving J.J. to scurry after and close and lock the apartment door behind him as he followed suit.

--------------------------------------------

            It was with some amazement that Dee realized he had been left by his lonesome, which gave him ample time to explore the cage he'd been imprisoned in, and hopefully, find some flaw in it. Though he had thoroughly listened to each of the Resistance members' stories and experiences, and put belief in them, Dee would not be resigned to the fact he'd been put under house arrest, there was usually a way to escape; one only had to look hard enough to find it.

His search began in the kitchen, where after noting the unusually high number of knives Randy stored there, he moved to the closet of the small hallway. As he was sorting through the various jackets and coats, Dee's hand paused on a leather jacket that after closer view, and checking the size of most of the clothes in the closet, he deemed too small for Randy to wear, in fact, it looked as if a child of only about seven or eight could make use of the jacket. 

His curiosity peaked, the raven-man returned to his ever-daunting task, unlocking the window at the end of the hallway, and frowning when his hands clasped metal bars instead of empty air. More than a little miffed, he headed to the bedroom, where he swiftly sorted through numerous clothes, running the names through his head without much thought involved behind the action.

Jeans, flannel shirts, business suits, boxer shorts, long gray and white socks, tube of lubricant, t-shirts, slacks- whoa! _Back up_, Dee thought to himself, reopening the drawer where he had caught sight of the small tube. Grinning evilly, the man fingered the item in question, noticing that it was only halfway full. "So, dear Ryo, you have not been involved in any immoral affairs lately? Very interesting indeed," Dee said to himself as he deposited the tube to its rightful place, and after making sure his search of the room was complete, entered the living room.

The clothes he had been wearing that fateful night had been collected and no doubt, discarded into a nearby trashcan. Dee grieved for the loss for only an instant, and when the search of the large room revealed nothing, he moved on once again, this time finding something of interest in the cabinet behind the mirrored surface of the bathroom.

An empty bottle of antidepressants (the prescription written some number of years ago), and a small bottle of sleeping pills; which did not look as if they had been used for some time. Swiftly, Dee pocketed the sleeping pills, and silently guaranteed the bottle it would be put into use whenever was convenient.

By the time Randy had returned from his visit of the hospital, Dee was laying comfortably on the couch, his eyes scanning the text of some fantasy novel he'd removed from the overcrowded bookshelf of the bedroom. The scarred man was obviously in bad temperament, and said naught a word to Dee as he entered the hallway and a moment later, slammed the door to the bathroom. The sound of the showerhead running was the only sign the raven-haired man received that Randy would be occupying the bathroom for a time.

Laying the book upon his raised knee, Dee removed the bottle of sleeping pills from his pocket, and quickly read the instructions on the label, noting the warning of doubling the prescribed dosage and what effect it would have if the event ever occurred. "Well, I am sorry, Doctor…" Dee started, pausing only to squint at the barely readable text upon the bottle label. "Dr. McNamara. But one of your patients is going to overdose accidentally. And not of his own free will, I'm afraid."

---------------------------------------

            It was during lunch of the next day that Fate provided an opening for Dee to implement his plan, as Randy had exited the kitchen to take a phone call in the next room, leaving the raven-haired man to contemplate how to go about slipping the scarred man the sleeping pills unknowingly, he obviously could not put the pills into the food, as the pasta would do very little to cover up the fact it hid drugs; next, he looked onto the drink Randy had poured for himself.

The green tea was near steaming, and if Dee crushed the pills, and swiftly stirred them in, it would no doubt leave very little evidence of being tampered with, though the pale man might note an odd taste after taking a sip of the substance. Reminding himself he had only moments to act, Dee emptied the contents of the bottle into his hands, crushing the small white pills into a thick white powder.

He paused only with his fist above the cup of green tea, and after a slight pause, shifted his hand away to drop about a third of the power in his other fist, which he dumped into the tea, and busied his hand with moving the spoon that lay beside the cup. Hearing Randy's footsteps near, he stood, hurrying over to the sink to rid himself of the remainder of the now sticky white substance.

He had only just observed the last of the white water drain itself when Randy reentered the room, a slight scowl on his formerly neutral face. The Resistance leader glanced at him curiously, but sat down, and resumed eating his meal, oblivious to Dee's constant anxious glances.

The frown situated on Dee's mouth twisted into a grin at the sight of Randy draining the last of his tea, the scarred man's Adam apple working the substance down the length of his throat. Dee had to but watch and await the pills' effect, before he could taste freedom once again.

-----------------------------------------------

                Dee opened one eye cautiously, and upon seeing no one in the near vicinity, swung his feet over the edge of the couch, coming to stand near the apartment door but a moment later. Before he took hold of the doorknob, he sent a wayward glance over his shoulder, or rather at the closed bedroom door, which held a safe but drugged man who had kept him captive in this apartment for the span of nearly four days.

Aware he should feel a deep-seated hatred for Randy, or at the very least some variant of resentment, all Dee could summon up was an odd kind of sorrow. His chest suddenly tight, the American exited his cage before his subconscious could bring about feelings that could prompt Dee to remain.

             As soon as he had entered the mass of people occupying the sidewalk, the tightness binding his chest dissipated, and for the first time in a week, the air entering his lungs didn't feel so heavy, when a shoulder collided with his back, and Dee began moving, shifting about in the crowd until he had reached the edge of the street. A long hard stare directed at the nearby street sign sent him a fit of hysterical laughter, as the realization hit that he had only been four blocks from his own residence, and it would only be 20 minutes before Dee could go home.

            Then his expression turned crestfallen when he thought that the Resistance would not let waste anytime in recovering him once discovering he had escaped their clutches. Dee let out a long suffering sigh, and then began walking, a plan forming piece by piece in his mind.

            He had at least two more hours before anyone stumbled onto the fact he was missing, and could sufficiently pack the necessary things while making use of the telephone to purchase a place ticket…somewhere far away. Then Dee could begin to come to terms with everything Randy and the others had told him, and whether or not he was indeed infected with lycanthropy.

            Or that was the plan at least, until as he was in the process of collecting his things, the door to his apartment swung open, and a boy entered without any reserve for the occupant residing inside. He wasn't an intimidating figure, his frame that of a young teenager (shoulders awkwardly broad, facial features still in the process of whether to follow his mother's or father's genes). It was something in the matter in which he stood that first began to alarm Dee, as his arms were crossed over a t-shirt which displayed the logo of some television show or other, and his denim covered legs were shoved against the doorframe.

The youth lifted an ebony hand and tucked a piece of stray blonde hair behind his ear, and it was in this moment, Dee pinpointed what was troubling about the teenager. Instead of the blue eyes that usually accompanied blonde hair, there were amber wolf eyes in their place and they did not look in the least pleasant.

To Be Continued…          


	5. Statement

[Written off and on from May 25th to June 30th of 2003]

[Last edited July 6th of 2004]

Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).

-----------------------------------------

"Mad Season" Chapter Five: Statement 

The youth, after a moment of silence, quickly took to giving himself a tour of Dee's apartment, off-handedly making comments which the older man neither heeded nor was aware of, as shell-shock had yet to wear off his person. _Werker, apartment, in, Ryo, Resistance, beast, creature, Ryo, kil-extermination, lycanthropy, _the same disease which might lay dormant or become active in his body within the next week or so. Tossing the shirt in his hand away, Dee was across the room and gripping the youth's collar before he could scarcely blink, and his voice came out much more harshly than he meant it. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

            At the scowl that crossed the teenager's face, Dee expected him to refuse to answer his inquiries but the youth spoke low, huskily, the tone matching the words that spilled out of his mouth. As he spoke, the teenager raised a hand and extracted Dee's hold from his person, the pressure in which he gripped the man's hand wringing forth a strained whimper from Dee.      

            "My name is Bikky Goldman, and as you have, no doubt, managed to put the pieces all together by now, which I hope you have, since judging by your appearance, you don't seem the type who easily comprehends information, I am what your new acquainted friend Randy calls a werker, and whatever the bastard told you about our kind is most definitely not true. You've heard facts, personal accounts, events from but one point of view, and in the game of life, there are usually two sides to every story, or rather conflict in this case.

            "Now, the reason I am here is very simple, Dee Thomas (1) Laytner of Felting's Publishing House, is because you are what we werkers have taken to calling a 'independent.' You are neither human nor werker, as you stand on the threshold of metamorphosis, and could become firmly rooted in one of the above; the coin, which has been tossed, could land either way, in other words. But for the time being, you are a method of communication in a particularly nasty spat, one which we have been trying to disentangle for some time now, and have found no common ground as of yet.

"The main difficulty in our conflict is the Resistance's leader, Randy McLane, who we have found to be quite an obstinate and resolute opponent, who seems to attract all kinds of interesting people to his side, some of which we have not been able to discern their identities. The funding they have managed to get is clearly from a government organization, as the weapons…what the hell are you laughing for?"

            Heaving another deep breath, Dee, red-faced and eyes nearly shining, broke into full-throated laughter once again, one arm slung across his abdomen, and almost gasping as he managed to get some grasp over his amusement over the situation he currently found himself in. Bikky's face was exasperated, his posture all but radiating displeasure and no doubt, immense disappointment at the older man's reaction to his words, and it was only after a strained moment of silence that a rumbling growl slipped into the air.

            The man in question swiftly straightened, using the back of his hand to wipe the wetness from his eyes, and assuming a stance he trusted was neutral, since he had adopted it from Randy after observing the man for the past few days during his imprisonment. "I'm apologize; I mean no offense but after everything that's occurred during these past few days, to encounter a werker like you who can't speak plainly, and seems not like an animal at all, it's just too much for me to come to terms with right now.

"Before you came into my apartment without my permission, I might add, I was in the process of packing my things (at least what I can), since I doubt the Resistance is going to take the loss of me lightly, and I can guarantee you if any of the organization's members find me with you, I will not live out the night. I'm very appreciative of my life, and I definitely do not want to tempt death at the moment."

             Upon seeing no response from Bikky, Dee returned to his task of gathering his clothing, starting when an ebony hand clasped his shoulder; the raven-haired man spun around, eyes going wide at the sight of the nearly burning amber eyes, and slightly clawed hands that the young teenager now sported rather smugly if he was reading Bikky's face correctly. "Maybe I did not make myself clear enough, Mr. Laytner, for what I was trying to express was that whether or not you consent to this role is of no importance to me, or any of my kind. You will do this, or…"

            The clawed hands at Bikky's side shifted, as if something was moving underneath the skin, rearranging muscles and such, before the claws became more pronounced, looking more like small stainless steel knives than the actual fingernails they had originated from. "Me and my kin will dispose of you properly, and continue looking for a new independent. Have I made myself clear, Dee, or do I have to make my words even plainer?"

            For a moment, Dee was reminded of Ryo's own threat concerning what would occur if he attempted to escape, and concluded that perhaps the werkers and the members of the Resistance were not that very different in some aspects. Both of them would do anything to accomplish their tasks, including walk over a few corpses if need be.

The hard lump in his throat continued to build until Dee had to swallow, his face paling of it's usual color, and after a moment of silence, the older man's shoulders hunched, the body language ringing that of defeat. "Yes, you have made everything quite understandable. I agree to your terms, as long as we move to a new location before the Resistance members take to visiting us without calling first, if you catch my meaning."

            "Yes, indeed I do. Indeed I do."

-------------------------------------

            "Yes, I'm aware we've yet to put together a team to finish off the last of the nest in the sewers, but the circumstances surrounding the last attack…I'm on my way up to Randy's apartment now, J.J., and- Shit, J.J.?" Angrily, Drake Parker slammed the cellular phone shut before shoving the device into his jean pocket, muttering about shitty reception, and antennas. The man wondered why J.J. had opted to remain at the hospital, instead of returning to Randy's apartment to discuss Resistance business; Drake hadn't been in the organization barely a month, and yet he was one being sent to collect information about future plans?

_Scrambling about for someone's lazy ass. That's all I am, is an errand-boy_, Drake thought to himself as he neared the small hallway leading to Randy's apartment, only to pause upon seeing a clearly masculine figure lounged against the door, the open collar of the trench coat he wore preventing Drake from getting a clear look at the man's face.

As it was, only a head of sandy blonde hair and oddly dark eyes that seemed almost black were visible and upon closer inspection, the Resistance member realized the man was clearly older (perhaps a little over thirty or more) than he appeared at first glance. Drake assumed he was a businessman, as he was sharply dressed in a dark blue suit sans the tie.

            "Before you go for whatever weapon you've got hidden on your person, I'm an acquaintance of Randy's and he will definitely not be happy if he discovers you have harmed me by mistake," The stranger informed confidently, rising to his feet and showing his frame to be equal to Randy's own.

            It seemed he was almost smug in the matter of which he examined the younger man, meeting Drake's gaze only after doing so thoroughly, and smiling lightly. "You must be new to the Resistance, because I've been meeting with Randy for over two years now, and have yet to see you among his organization."

            As the stranger held out a hand, Drake clasped it swiftly, squeezing only a moment before letting go and resisting the urge to wipe his hand clean on his jeans. If the Resistance member had to pinpoint his disconcertion, it would have to have been the nearly black eyes the man sported. "I'm Leo Granton, and you are…?"

            "Drake Parker. If you are as close to Randy as you say you are, why are you waiting outside his door like some abandoned animal?" Seeing his comment strike a nerve as Leo's brow narrowed irritably, Drake placed a few hard raps on Randy's apartment door, noting the tobacco smell radiating in the near vicinity off-handedly. After awaiting a response from within for more than five minutes, Drake frowned, calling out Randy's name instead.

When that too did nothing, Leo took action, producing a small piece of metal that he inserted into the lock, and after a moment of work, undid the lock mechanism, opening the door and letting Drake cross the threshold before he did. "That's a neat trick. Do you put the method into practice much?"

To his surprise, Leo laughed, the lines on his face meeting for a fleeting second, and then the pleasant expression melted away to reveal annoyance, and a thread of repressed anger. "When you have a wife that changes the locks of your house every few days just to spite you because she happens to hold knowledge you're having an affair, you become quickly adapted to picking locks and other such things."

"You don't wear a wedding ring," Drake commented as he searched the apparently desolate apartment, glancing at the closed bedroom door questionably upon seeing the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink (such a thing almost never occurred as Randy was a bit anal when it came to cleanliness). The frown on his face deepening, the Resistance member took hold of the bedroom door handle, half listening to Leo's reply as he proceeded to open the door. "Neither does she. Alicia used to wear it for show, but apparently, she's no longer apprehensive about what our friends or family think of us. I can't say I'm distraught by tha-"

"Randy!" Drake exclaimed shortly, moving to the Resistance's leader side within a moment, and clutching at the scarred man's shoulder tightly, tugging insistently, in hopes of jolting Randy back to consciousness. While the Resistance member continued this activity, Leo came up beside Drake, a frown playing on his lips, and his brow ceased worriedly, as if he may have been expecting something like this, but had been unable to prevent it in time.

"He's coming around, albeit a bit slowly, but at least he's awakening," Leo observed after taking notice of the slow, almost drugged movements of Randy, who opened his eyes and after blinking a few times, stared at both Drake and Leo confusedly. Randy sat up, shoving aside the pillow that his head had been resting on but a moment before, and glanced about, doing a double take once noticing the darkness that seeped through the lone window of the bedroom.

"What..." Randy muttered softly, then his gaze hardened significantly, and Drake thought he noticed a line of tension develop along the Resistance leader's shoulders, which proved correct as the man's fists closed tightly, and Randy cursed underneath his breath harshly.

"Goddamn it! That bastard Dee…he obviously managed to get a hold of some kind of drugs since I can only recall the events shortly after lunch. No doubt, this means we no longer have any way to control him or his future actions."

Drake waved his hand, his expression one of confusion, and some thread of disconcertion, before inquiring about exactly what had occurred, and after hearing Randy's answer, immediately headed to the phone in the kitchen to call upon the assistance of his fellow Resistance members. He had a spare thought that if everything was screwed now, how would it be once happenings became even more complex?

---------------------------------------

            Leo took a seat beside Randy's sullen figure, hooking an arm around the man's shoulders, and after seeing no resistance in the scarred man's body language or manner, pulled him in a sideways hug, resting his chin on Randy's slightly mussed hair. "I only came here to see if you were in the mood to play about a bit, but I suppose you have had enough excitement for the day, huh?"

            The only reaction the older man received for his troubles was a moderate tap to the ribs by a pale elbow, which Leo clasped and used to pull Randy into his arms fully, settling himself against the man's back comfortably. To his surprise, the Resistance leader melted against him, all but cuddling, which was very unlike the usual Randy he met with when it suited each of their needs. Leo sighed, the brief burst of air sounding disappointed, and Randy looked up quizzically, his one good eye narrowed, a clear sign that he was expecting an answer presently.

            Lightly running a hand down the scarred area of Randy's face despite the younger man's reluctance for him to do so, as he had expressed in the past, Leo spoke softly, the tone one of blunt honesty, and irritation. "I'm well aware this is merely a physical relationship, devoid of all emotional attachments, but if you had told me you were housing a werker victim as it sounds from Drake's distress, I would have steered clear until matters had resolved themselves."

            "What good would it have done, Leo? Whether or not I want you to hold knowledge of my affairs, you usually end up stumbling upon them anyway, so what is the use of keeping you in the dark about Resistance matters?" Randy answered shortly, pulling away from the man's embrace and twisting about until he was staring the older man straight in the face. "Apparently, business mixes with pleasure in this relationship, or whatever it's become in these last two years."

            The sound of a hard rap against the bedroom's doorframe captured both of men's attention, and Drake, his face a bit flushed and looking somewhat uncomfortable, spoke hurriedly as if in a rush to get the words out. "Sorry for interrupting but I've spoken with some of the other members and they are going to form a search party to locate Dee before he can get very far, which I doubt he has since it's only been about four hours since he managed to escape. I assume all this is fine with you, Randy?"

            Standing up, the scarred man only nodded silently, affirming that he believed Drake's actions to be correct, and after briefly making use of the bathroom, called Drake over for a moment. "When you manage to locate Dee, be sure to bring him back to my apartment as I have a few choice words to impart to him," Randy said firmly. _The expression on his face looms on sadistic_, Leo noted silently to himself as he stood up from the bed, and straightened his clothes. Why did the man have the feeling that this Dee was in for more than a lecture, and violence instead? 

            Drake grounded Randy with a questioning stare but after a moment nodded; after explaining that he had come with the original purpose of organizing a plan to eradicate the rest of the werker's nest in the sewers, informed the pair of men that he was going to return to the hospital, and then join the search party.

"If we happen to catch sight of him, I'll be sure to contact you right away, so do me a favor and remain here for the evening, all right?" The Resistance member looked down for a second, as if making sure all his thoughts were order, and he had not forgotten to mention anything with a title of importance. "Oh, yes, that's right. Before I left the hospital, Diana asked me to tell you that she was going to call later, perhaps a bit after eleven tonight to finish the conversation you and Berkeley had earlier."           

Before Leo could scarcely blink, Randy had directed Drake to the apartment door and shoved the man outside, the hand on his shoulder squeezing harshly before letting up as the Resistance leader closed the door halfway.

Drake looked at Randy curiously, his eyes widening upon observing the repressed anger in the older man's expression. "Forgive me if my actions were a little abrupt and rough, but you do have places to be, people to search for and all that; your time should not be wasted by letting me know of Diana's intentions. Thank you for making an appearance though, I do appreciate the update, and I will think about how to go about destroying the rest of that nest."

As Leo watched, lounged against the bedroom doorframe as he was, Randy shut the door, and after a moment, leaned against the piece of wood and gradually slid down, his arms coming to rest against the length of his gathered legs. "As tough as you would like to be, I suppose you are still human, Randy, and as such, emotions such as anger and exhaustion are common. In other words, you cannot keep up a front forever, though I'm sure you and many others would like that to be true.

"What was Drake talking about, the discussion between you and Berkeley? That seemed to be the remark that set you off but a moment ago, and try as you might, you will not be able to convince me that this is your usual way of dealing with others; otherwise no one would have joined the Resistance in the first place. Furthermo-"

"Be quiet, Leo. I'm not in the mood to discuss these sorts of things with _you_ of all people, as you aren't a member of the Resistance, and only serve to as a means of distraction when Resistance business become too much for me to shoulder. You're just a body to screw and be screwed by, as much as I am, so do not poke around in my personal business when you feel the need; it's an unhealthy habit that could land in you in a difficult position very soon, Leo."

The line of his mouth pressed thin and white, Leo crossed the small space separating him from Randy, and after raising a hand, struck the Resistance leader across the face, the beginnings of a red handprint spreading across the man's right cheek a moment after the action. The older man's face was screwed, reflecting mostly anger and a hint of hurt beneath the expression, though Leo did nothing to let the fact he was wounded show, as Randy turned to meet his gaze, one hand gently rubbing the struck area on his face, as if in shock or at least a thread of disbelief.

        "I have tried, Randy, tried very hard to not let this our arrangement of ours to affect my life but it has, and I cannot stop myself from feeling for you. Even if the base of those feelings consists of pity, curiosity, lust, concern, and yes, even a bit of love, but if you continue down the path you're traveling, of self-hatred, and letting your mouth run ahead of your thoughts, _you_ are the one who is going to be in a difficult position, not _me_."

"…You're exactly right. I do hold a bit of hatred for myself, for what I have become in these last eight years, for what events lead up to the creation of the Resistance, and for finally giving up on…him."

The anger on Leo's face dissipated immediately, before he kneeled down before Randy, gently reaching out and grasping the younger man's chin, concern flooding Leo's thoughts as his eyes met the suddenly hooded gaze of Randy's. In that one dark gray eye, there was such an amount of mental anguish, that Leo drew the Resistance leader against him, paying no heed to the slight growl that escaped Randy's mouth, or the frown that only increased the longer Leo held the man.

Just when Leo began to feel a hand wander to the side of his neck, no doubt, to apply pressure to one of many areas of the neck that would bring about pain to him, he spoke softly, almost speaking right into Randy's ear. "I'm aware that I'm one of the few who knows about your past, and I'm honored to hold knowledge of it but I don't think you should give up all hope after so many years of searching, knowing that you're drawing ever nearer to your goal, as there are only so many places someone can hide before inevitably running short of them."

The man pressed against him was silent for so long, Leo feared perhaps Randy refused to answer altogether, or had fallen asleep but the throat against his vibrated, and the older man found himself staggered as Randy began to answer. "That may be true, but I tire so of continuing onward with my search that I would rather give up than keep holding belief in false hope. And now I'm losing two valuable members of the Resistance, who have been such help without even being aware of that fact; it's infuriating and depressing at the same time.

"I don't know what to think anymore, what conclusions to draw, what things to realize, I'm just…so lost, even more so now that Dee's disappearance has added to the mix. Can you even fathom what it is like to know that someone who has been marked by a werker, might become one of the damned beasts in less than two weeks, is wandering about the streets of New York City?"

Leaning back enough to catch a glimpse of Randy's face, Leo blanched upon seeing the beginnings of tears gather in the man's eyes, and his body acted on it's own will, his mouth automatically seeking the lone tear that began to fall, and doing away with it. Kissing down the length of Randy's face, ever mindful of the area he had slapped, Leo whispered, so softly his lips barely even moved, "I can make you forget, if only for a time, but it's more than you can do by yourself."

As Leo pressed closer to the body near him, the phone rung from its perch in the kitchen; however, its noise went unnoticed, as both of men preferred to focus their attentions elsewhere.

---------------------------------------

            "Nobody's answering at the apartment, so I suppose the search party is to go after Dee without Randy's assistance. What is keeping him occupied anyway? Doesn't he know that Resistance business cannot be shoved aside so lightly?" J.J. said irritatingly, his left hand rubbing the back of his neck out of habit until a hand prevented further movement of his arm altogether.          

            Hard glare in place, J.J.'s expression softened upon seeing Drake's face, who smiled at him lightly and took a seat in one of the empty chairs positioned outside of Berkeley's hospital room. "If you're speaking of our _dear, beloved_ leader, I hold a firm belief that he values Resistance business above his own life, though to answer your question, I believe his sudden detachment involves someone I happened upon before his apartment door. A man by the name of Granton?"

            Catching sight of comprehension within J.J.'s expression, Drake continued on, holding out a faint hope that perhaps the man beside him would provide a bit of back-story on Leo Granton, and why he was so close to Randy. "He didn't strike me as anybody of interest until he and Randy displayed evidence of much more than a platonic relationship."

            "They're lovers, of course," J.J. explained shortly; then he shook his head as if disagreeing with his previous words. "No, fuck-buddies would be the most appropriate term for them, as they don't care at all for each other, and would rather concentrate on the physical than emotional (as far as I know). Leo came about a few years ago, and hasn't disappeared from Randy's life yet, so I assume he will continue appearing for some time.

            "At first, Randy would have nothing to do with him, but after Leo stumbled upon Resistance business, he decided different and they became what you see of them today, close but only physically so. Randy made him swear, under knifepoint even, that he would never breathe word of the Resistance's very existence to anyone, and so far he has kept his word. " J.J. said, taking a sip of his bottled water after speaking, and glancing sideways at Drake to see if the information he'd provided impacted the man at all.

Drake only shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes a moment later as he spoke. "What will happen to Dee once he is found and captured, J.J.? Randy did not have a pleasant expression on his face when he asked me to bring Dee back to his apartment once the man is in our grasp again."

"I'm not sure myself, Drake. Usually, any werker victims that manage to escape the Resistance end up getting killed, accidentally or otherwise, as no one is the organization reacts kindly to such attempts. We're only trying to assist those affected by the werkers, but some of them are so blind to that fact that they end up losing their life as a result. Take Dee for instance, we held him safely for nearly a week, and even after hearing our side of the story (as it is), he still desired freedom."

"Freedom is the only invention of man that people value above all else, as they will fight for it until all their efforts are exhausted, and even upon surrender, they would rather die than be controlled again. It's a part of the reality we deal with every day, and is quite unavoidable," Drake said matter-of-factly, oblivious to the stunned expression that had taken root in J.J. face, and after a moment, said man laughed, prompting Drake to open his eyes and glance at J.J.

"Well, what do you know? You do use your brains instead of brawn sometimes, Drake," J.J. teased lightly, the length of his mouth shifting into a grin as Drake punched J.J.'s shoulder, his own face more amused than hurt by his companion's earlier statement.

"Yeah, not only do I have an impressive IQ, but I can kick your ass physically as well, J.J. Keep that knowledge handy before you try to best me in training or otherwise," Drake boasted confidentially, his worries about Resistance business fading quickly to good old fashioned bantering with his friend. If a veteran like J.J. was not letting the current circumstances bother him all that much, then things could not be too bad, right? 

------------------------------------

"Yes, I located him without much effort, and am currently en route to the nearest safe house. As far as I can tell, he's been residing within the Resistance leader's apartment, for nearly a week, and just secured an escape route but a few hours ago. I caught him whilst he was in the middle of packing his belongings, and- yes, he agreed to our terms; otherwise I would not be bothering to relocate him to a safe house, would I, Rai? … Fine, I'll talk to you at another time when you are not so occupied," Bikky quipped almost angrily before hitting a button on his cellular phone, and resituating it where it once was.

Notching a brow curiously at the youth's harsh tone, Dee switched his bag to his left hand, and leaned forward to tap Bikky on the shoulder, nearly flinching when the amber eyes glowered irritably in his direction as a response. "Uh, sorry if I'm merely making your foul mood worse, but how did you know I'd been staying at Ryo's place when I had never made mention of him?"

Bikky stared at him questionably for a moment, but after shrugging his shoulders, set about answering Dee's question, a hint of condescendence in his voice as he did so. "I would have thought they would have educated you better, but I suppose it's only to be expected as you only spent less in a week in the Resistance's grasp. For further reference, though my sense of smell is lessened in this form, I can smell that damn man upon you, quite strongly since those are his clothes in the first place.

"As well as my sense of smell, I can see further and clearer than you ever will, and hold a bit of supernatural strength as you have no doubt, felt earlier in your apartment. While silver bullets are entirely lethal when put to good use, all that other nonsense about being unable to cross running water, unusually long middle fingers, wolf's bane, the symbol of the pentagram, and adorning your body and residences with garlic are untrue, and have been for quite some time."

Like the accounts and stories of the Resistance, Dee silently absorbed and memorized this information, refraining from passing judgment until he could sort through it all leisurely, and draw the inevitable conclusions he needed to if he was going to come to grips with everything that had happened recently. "Is there anything else I should be aware of, seeing as I might become one of you in the not-so-distant-future, as everyone keeping informing me?"

"We don't age very fast like human beings do, if I had to pinpoint the exact number, I'd say we age one year every ten years, thus the reason I still look so young despite the fact I became a werker eight years ago. It's one of the few pluses of so many negatives, such as having to consume human flesh each time we shift to our true forms, and eating large amounts of food if we do not indulge in the habit above."

"And that's all you think I should know?" Dee asked, the expression on his face bordering on disturbed, with perhaps a thread of regret he had even voiced the inquiry in the first place. Bikky glanced back as they continued threading on the nearly crowded sidewalk, and nodded mutely after a moment of reflection, before gripping Dee's sleeve and leading them into a dark alleyway.

"I guarantee you will not be able to escape from this place, as it's very heavily guarded, and even if you did, you will not make it out alive and breathing. Our methods can be very vicious when provoked wrongly," Bikky said casually, as if he wasn't threatening Dee, and was merely discussing the details of his day.

Within a smooth motion of his right hand, the alley wall the two had come to rest in front of, suddenly rippled, the image of the compiled bricks revealing a white wooden door, which Bikky opened without comment and dragged his shell-shocked companion through.            

             "Wha- what the hell was that?" Dee sputtered out once taking a look around the dark staircase Bikky had led them on. "Is it not obvious? An illusion meant to deceive those who we werkers would rather never find hide or hair of us. Quite simple, actually, making the mind sees what it wishes to," The teenager explained shortly, the voiced information both confusing and intriguing Dee as they reached the end of the staircase.

             Once through an ordinary-looking doorway, the raven-haired man felt his eyes widen significantly as they took in the view of an underground city, laden with people and the accessories required to take care of them. From his current location, all Dee could make out was the large empty space ahead of him, and the various doorways that, no doubt, led to private rooms, and other such places of importance. Artificial lights hung from various places in the concrete ceiling above them, and the floor beneath him was made of compacted dirt.

            "You know, your kind and the Resistance have much in common, besides the creepy atmosphere of your headquarters. You don't happen to have a leader that resembles a block of ice all too closely hidden somewhere around here?" Dee said, readjusting the large duffel bag on his shoulder before the main strap dug in too sharply. He had managed to pack all he could, since though Bikky didn't voice the point out loud, Dee caught on that he would not be returning to his apartment anytime in the near future.

            "No, our leader is the very opposite of the Resistance's Ryo, much less high-strung, and generally thinks things over before attempting any kind of action, justified as it may be. I'd continue on but I'm sure Ilona will deliver a spiel of her own, and believe me, it'll be much longer than anything I have mentioned," Bikky responded, his tone nearing that of boredom. The teenager whose appearance belied his age paused at a particular doorway, and after opening it, ushered Dee in hurriedly. "Ilona will desire a word with you soon, so do not make yourself too comfortable. I'll be back to collect you shortly."

            Left to his lonesome once again, Dee looked over his new prison with interest, as he was going to spend a small chunk of his life here, in this small box with four walls, and one lone doorway, which upon further investigation led to a bathroom. Nodding approvingly to himself, the raven-haired man noted the single bed, the nightstand, and the small trunk (coincidentally laying at the end of bed), which made up the contents of the small room with plain white walls that Dee decided he loathed at first glance.

            Allowing a long suffering sigh to escape his lips, Dee dumped his rather heavy duffel bag on the trunk, before collapsing on the bed and its covers, his expression not one of utter contentment as he positioned his hands beneath his head, and bordering more on the aggravated side. Just when he had managed to escape one prison, he had been very rudely and suddenly shoved into yet another one, except this one looked much worst his previous placement, packed to the grills with werkers instead of human beings, as it was.

            "At least at Ryo's place, I managed to get some decent food. Though that guy didn't resemble the picture of domestication, he knew his way around the kitchen much better than I; and…he wasn't half-bad looking either, for a cold bastard," Dee muttered softly to himself, his thoughts halfway betraying his words as he began to wonder whether or not the Resistance leader had slept off the drugs Dee had fed him yet. "Either way, he is not going to be in the best of moods when he finally wakes up, and puts two and two together."

            _Maybe I'm better off here, where he can't touch me,_ Dee told himself, before the door to his room, or rather, prison opened and Bikky stepped through the doorway, his expression leering on the amused and expectant side as he motioned for the older man to stand up.

As he followed on Bikky's heels, Dee shook his head firmly. _No, this is the worst of the two, most definitely. One false step or statement, and my life is automatically forfeit, as I don't think the werkers are half as compassionate and caring as the Resistance might be. There were beasts, wandering about in the guise of humans, and instinct overrides all common sense, does it not? _

**_To Be Continued…_**

[1] As far as I know, Sanami Matoh provided no middle names for the FAKE characters so any that do appear in this story are completed made up, and not based on fact.


	6. Truth

Author's Note: Leo Granton was the one responsible for the murder of Ryo's parents in the manga this AU is based upon, and the 'Rai' Bikky mentioned in the last scene of the previous chapter is a reference to another of Sanami Matoh's works. Very fun and challenging to see how many characters/references I can squeeze in this story, at least for me. 

Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).

[Written off and on between June 30th to July 22nd of 2003]

[Last edited on July 6th of 2004]

------------------------------------------ Mad Season Chapter Six: The Truth 

Too caught up in his own thoughts to realize the werker Bikky had stopped, Dee slammed into the teenager's back; the only thing saving him from falling to the ground was Bikky's impossible strength, as the werker had grasped his arm as soon he had started towards the dirt surface. Muttering a quiet thanks, the raven-haired man quickly straightened, and looked ahead, putting on a brave front even though his slightly sweaty palms betrayed the façade. Dee's face went pale as his eyes took in the view of a raised platform, obviously built in haste, as several of the boards supporting the structure were not nailed and some of wood used looked weather-beaten.

Seated upon the platform was a thick-looking chair that the closer that Dee ventured towards it, looked to be made of assorted human bones, some of which still looked grisly and fresh. Reminding himself that looking sickly would not help his situation at all, the man reined in as much of his discomfort as he could before placing his gaze on the figure seated in that abominable piece of furniture.

The woman looked tall, but after taking stock of her legs, Dee decided she was about five foot five, not at all the stature which he had anticipated from someone within her position in the werkers' society. The clothing she wore was surprisingly simple; a long-sleeved gray shirt with a deep V-neck that brought attention to the large metal cross, the black cord of which circled her thin neck twice, that was cradled between her breasts; the lower half of her body was covered in a pair of long tan slacks, that she quickly readjusted as she stood from the chair.

Deep violent eyes blinked, and then looked on in amusement, before a pale hand flicked a piece of long black hair over a shoulder, and then the woman that was Ilona Summers spoke, her voice somewhere between husky and rough. "Welcome to our humble adobe, Mr. Laytner. I hope you have found it to your liking, as you will be here until we have no further use for you; I hope you do understand that if, during any of the situations that may arise, you work for us, and only us."  

Not fond of the slight teasing inflicted within her tone, Dee merely nodded, fighting to keep his expression neutral, and not on the angered side as he would have liked it to be. Feeling a long fingernail tease the flesh of his neck unexpectedly, the raven-haired man looked up to meet the ever-amused gaze of Ilona's, whose mouth curved into a wide smile, before she looked about the room, and spoke harshly. "I wish to speak to our independent alone. Leave us be for a few hours before coming to collect him from my private chambers, am I understood?"

The crowd of werkers that had slowly gathered broke apart, figures going back to where they had come, and others lingering a moment before doing the same; only one male werker remained, fixing their leader with a questioning stare. Flinching as the fingernail on the side of his bared throat drew blood, withdrawn hastily by its owner as it was, Dee looked onto the retreating form of Ilona as she drew close to the lone werker, and glared openly, none too pleased it seemed with having her order disobeyed.

Nervously, the short blonde haired werker cleared his throat, light green eyes narrowing determinedly as he spoke hurriedly, the tone slightly wavering despite proper preparation. "Do you think it wise to let the man know the locations of your chambers, Ilona? What if he makes good his escape from here, and inadvertently provides the Resistance with information they have yet to grasp hold of themselves?"

There was a loaded moment, before a sharply clawed hand moved swiftly, too fast for Dee's eyes to track, struck the side of the subordinate werker's face, and the masculine voice that had been spoke out worriedly shifted into short screams of agony. The reason why the werker seemed to be in so much pain was unknown, until the bloody hand of Ilona's opened, and the eyeball that had been previously positioned in the man's right eye socket, rolled to the ground, the green colored pupil sharp in contrast to the brown dirt it laid upon.

"You'd do well to curb your tongue, Zeke Kellem, for I will not be so forgiving the next time you tell me information I am already well aware of. Now, take that which belongs to you, and see if the few medical personnel we have here can be of any help to you," Ilona said evenly, unfazed to the violence she had just wrought unto her subordinate, and after Zeke had shakily slinked away into the darkness beyond them, the woman reached out and grasped Dee's wrist.

His breath coming in erratically, the raven-haired man fought to not pull away from Ilona's bloodied hand, but in the end, failed to do so, as he fell to his knees, and emptied what little had been in his stomach. While Dee knew that the werkers' headquarters was bound to be different from the Resistance's, he had not thought the comparisons and contrasts would make themselves evident so strongly.

"And the Resistance says we have filthy habits; at least we werkers know how to keep a meal inside us where it belongs," Ilona commented shortly, before taking hold of Dee's shoulder impatiently and leading him onward through the darkness that he could not navigate through himself, even if he had made an effort. "I do hope you will not be a disappointment, Mr. Laytner, because I do so hate wastes of my precious time."

As he was shoved roughly through a heavy crimson curtain, Ilona motioned to the small card table ladened with various foods and drink, not knowing that Dee considered the sight quite unwelcome to his suddenly unstable stomach. Catching sight of a pitcher of ice water, Dee wandered over to the table, and poured himself a glass of the chilly liquid, quickly swallowing it as he looked over the room that was said to be Ilona's private chambers.

The walls were painted a rich burgundy, with some paintings hanging from various spots; one painting in particular was placed above the king-sized bed, displaying a scene in the forest, one of impending violence as the wolf in the painting looked about to attack a man with a notched bow and arrow looking about the darkness surrounding him determinedly.

"Before meeting with the werker that forever changed my life, I thought wolves to be terribly romantic and beautiful in their own deadly way. Little did I know I would have the opportunity to gain an insider's perspective into the creatures' minds. But here I am, forty-four years later, looking nowhere near my respective age. Tell me, Mr. Laytner…or can I call you Dee?"

Coughing once to clear his throat, Dee took another sip of water before telling Ilona he did mind the use of his first name, though that mouth addressing him so familiarly did nothing to ease his troubled mind. "If your body did have a care to what your mind wished, would you veer from humanity, or stand fast to it?"

Notching the werker's leader with a curious stare, Dee refrained from speaking until he was certain his words would not carry what disgust his thoughts did. Gently, he raised a wetted napkin he had taken hold from the table, and held it on the long scratch on the side of his throat, before telling what he had believed true. "If I may speak so honestly, I would rather not shift into something nature did not wrought into existence. Though, if my body decides to succumb to the seed of lycanthropy that rests inside of it, I will not have much a choice in the matter."

Ilona's silence was a disconcerting thing, and as she slipped off the bottom of the ruby silk-encased bed, the look in her violet eyes seemed more troubling than her soundlessness; Dee leaned back against the chair he sat in, futilely trying to put some distance between the werker leader and himself.

"So you would find it distasteful to have your body do things it was not meant to?" Ilona questioned, her hands coming to rest on top of Dee's knees, and gently pulling the two limbs apart until the woman sat between his legs gracefully, one of her arms sliding along Dee's back, while the other arm lay on the length of his leg, the fingers connected to the arm playing against the jut of his left hip bone. "But what if those changes made it possible to do wondrous things, activities that humans dare not dream of?"

Half shuddering in repulsion and pure lust, Dee shoved Ilona away, or tried to, but once again, the werker's strength was too much for him to overcome, and after a moment, the small woman moved from between his legs to straddle his hips, her mouth pressing harshly against his own, the teeth that gently gazed one side of his mouth promising violence if he resisted her actions. Whimpering just the slightly bit as he battled between obeying his slowly awakening libido and his panicked mind, Dee found his hands moving towards the bottom of Ilona's shirt.

Eager pale fingers shifted from the raven-haired man's shoulders to his lower torso, undoing the three buttons of the jeans easily, before lightly caressing the material blocking that which Ilona wanted to put to action very soon in the near future. Breaking apart from the woman's mouth, for both the need to breathe, and to reevaluate just what was taking place, Dee swallowed the breathy moan that would have come from his mouth, and using strength which he didn't think possible of himself, shoved Ilona to the floor.

Angrily, the werker leader gathered herself up, glaring up at Dee vindictively as the hands crossed against her chest began to shift, changing into claws the raven-haired man was all too familiar with. "I do not discriminate between races, just as you do not discriminate between sexes. Yet you dare to push me away, when I offer you the chance to grasp a bit of physical happiness."

Aware of the sudden danger he found himself in, Dee held up both hands in a sign of surrender before Ilona's claws could be put to good use, and as if satisfied with the man's actions, the shifting reversed, the hands the woman was born with reappearing swiftly.

"How did you know I was bi?" He asked, a bit dumbfounded the werker could have picked up something of such importance. Usually, no one caught onto the fact until he hit on him or her, or at the very least when him or her hit on him, which rarely occurred anyway.

"Your eyes betray you, Dee, very much so, they wandered over both sexes so thoroughly; you would think you were trying to memorize each one of their features. Were you?" Ilona's approach was slow, measuring the effect she had on their new independent before she kneeled before him, reaching out a hand to trace the wounds the werker in Central Park had laid upon Dee so many days ago.

The pale face that had been full of anger but a moment ago seemed oddly melancholy as the werker continued to trace the lines until finally pulling back after a brief spasm possessed her. "As the werker leader, it is not only my job to protect those who join this pack, but also to acknowledge each of them, retain a bit of their life force so that when they meet their unfortunate end at the hands of the Resistance or otherwise, I will know of their deaths. We're all connected, I most closely of all.

"The werker who did this; his name was William Cummingham, and he was the father of a family; four human children and one human wife. Lycanthropy cannot be passed on genetically, not unless the wolf within has been present for some time (usually a century or more), and is a part of us, as we are to it. William did nothing but live as he could, even if it meant taking the lives of others during the full moon. The Resistance calls us monsters, creatures that have not the right of drawing breath, but do you want to know the truth?"

Ilona's eyes had darkened significantly, and Dee found he could not look away from those oddly reflective surfaces, staring only in mute curiosity as the werker leader began to speak, her tone inflicted with unfiltered hatred. "It is not us that are the monsters; it is the human beings that dare call themselves an organization, those that inhabit the Resistance and mindlessly murder those of our kind without a thread of regret. We have the right to live just as anyone else does, but are not given the chance, the opportunity to say what we wish to since we are stuck down at first sight. We're not given justice, and we are in sore need of it."

Looking away from the now watery pools of the woman's eyes, Dee thought back to that fateful evening in the park, that upon first coming upon the werker, it had not attacked him until the Resistance had made it's appearance. _Did I truly give the creature a chance to state it's case before it was forced to take action, to prolong it's life however many seconds it took before being taken down by Ryo's organization? _

An answer did not seem forthcoming, even as Dee strained his mind to look for one, any one, and as he looked back on the somewhat crumbling figure of Ilona, he started, the woman's curled form reminding him of someone else. Though Ryo and the werker leader differed greatly, they both seemed to possess a large emotional wound that had yet to be healed, and Dee spoke haltingly, unsure if his observations were correct.             "May I assume that one of the werkers the Resistance killed was related to you in some way? There usually is some cause behind someone's actions, and you look particularly wounded, as if part of you had been ripped out savagely. Perhaps if you and Ryo could meet, and discuss just what it is you two are fighting for, you may find some common ground, some kind of compromise that would stop all the unjustified killing."

Ilona's still figure sprung into action, her fist colliding with Dee's jaw before he could adequately avoid the punch, and as he sat up and rubbed the struck spot irritated, the woman roared, her words barely perceivable to the human ear.

"I have no wish to speak with that bastard! He mercilessly murders our kind, and relishes in it, the killing, the blood, everything! He brings others into his cause only to justify his own actions, and I cannot abide that!_ He _killed my husband only two years ago, and still he is not punished, he is not hurt severe enough for my revenge to be complete! Talk to him, you say?! I would rather silt his throat, and I doubt he feels any different! Talking is impossible for two, whose worlds are so different!"

Stunned by the werker leader's outburst, Dee could only do little more than observe her as the tears of sadness she had shed earlier were replaced by those of burning hot rage, invisible streaks of glass that were visible only to those that were close by. Feeling as if he had offended her, Dee reached out, intent on offering some sort of comfort, but when Ilona slapped the hand away harshly, he instead headed to the door, pausing only when the woman spoke, her tone wavering before becoming steady once again.

"We have an outing, a hunt that I wish you to attend, but do not worry, you will not need to participate, only observe. If we happen to run into one of the Resistance members, I expect you to serve a way of communication for us since they will not listen to any but their own kind. I am determined to stop the bloodshed, but not before I have my revenge on Randy McLane, understood?"

Nodding to himself, then realizing Ilona could not see the action, he replied, hastily, eager to get to his room, and process all of the information he had learned in the last hour. "Yes, I understand all too well. Both you werkers and the Resistance are willing to walk over a few corpses to get your goals accomplished. In my opinion, both the werkers and the Resistance are monsters, not just one side. Am I wrong?"

Even as a pair of werkers suddenly appeared on the other side of the heavy red certain as if summoned by magic, before he was roughly escorted towards the dark hallway, Dee heard but one word, hissed roughly through gritted teeth ground together in anger.

"Yes."

----------------------------------

As Diana made her way across the hospital room, she tried to put all worries aside about the earlier occurrence that had happened in this room, as tempers had run rampant, and emotions flared to life quite quickly. Gently, she placed the glass of water in her fiancé's hand, and gritted her teeth at the pain the action of sitting up and bringing the glass to his mouth caused Berkeley. The slicing of his femoral vein had left the man as weak as a newborn kitten, and though his strength was slowly returning, it was be a while before Berkeley could walk unaided.

            But it could have been much worse, Diana decided quietly in the privacy of her mind, for if this had been the first time her fiancé had been wounded by a werker, he could have turned into one of the creatures themselves, though fortunately, after various injuries and scratches, his body obviously was immune to lycanthropy. Until this fact had been discovered, the blonde woman had been terrified each and every time Berkeley had gone off on some sort of mission (even when she had accompanied him at times).

            Part of the woman both hated and loved Randy's cause, as the amount of suffering the humans endured by the werkers had been lowered significantly except with each nest, there was a chance none of the Resistance members would come out alive, anymore than the werkers they attacked. It was a dangerous poker game with Fate, and each time a reconnaissance commenced, Diana had feared that perhaps the Resistance would be dealt the losing hand whilst the werkers gained the winning.

            Both her and Berkeley would not have to deal with such things anymore, as their resignations from the Resistance had been accepted, and honored, though grudgingly if Randy's foul mood during their discussion hours ago had been any indication. Though the scarred man's anger had been justified, what with the topic her fiancé had brought up and would not drop until getting a straight answer the Resistance leader was quite reluctant to give.

Just as Diana was about to thread upon another line of thought, the feel of a hand on her left one that rested uneasily on her lap drew her back to the present, and she met the concerned gaze of Berkeley, who intertwined their fingers and smiled lightly. Her heart skipped a beat, ever in awe of just how strong the man lying in the bed next to her was, and how Berkeley had always been someone who she had admired greatly even before falling in love with him.

"If you worry yourself to death about it, I retract my offer of marriage, and recommend instead that you wed the room of a sanitarium, because I am aware of how you let things get to you, and it's not something a sane woman does willingly," He said softly, his roughened voice a pale shadow of the smooth baritone Diana was so used to hearing.

Heeding her fiancé's advice, the blonde woman merely nodded, bringing both hands to grasp Berkeley's single one, before speaking, her tone uncertain and somewhat wavering. "Was it really necessary to bring_ that _up, Berk? Everyone in the Resistance is aware of it, but it's taboo to discuss it openly, especially with Randy himself present. I cannot believe you kept pushing until…"

A short snort was all Diana got in respond, and she looked curiously at Berkeley whose face was bordering on the amused side, before the man pulled his hand away from the former Resistance member's, and scratched an itch that had obviously been bothering him. "Whether or not everyone holds knowledge of it doesn't mean that Randy himself is aware of it. I thought it best to bring it up before someone else did, someone who has not known him as long as we have."

"But still…he looked truly angry, and worst of all, offended when the discussion turned that way. Do you think just because we have quit the Resistance, he won't associate with us anymore? I don't think I could bear it if he turned a blind eye to our existence." The worries Diana had pushed aside when Berkeley had began speaking to her came to the forefront once again, this time, showing many new situations, and their problems.

Berkeley sat up once again, biting his bottom lip in an effort to prevent any sound from escaping his mouth during the motion, before reaching out, and pulling Diana against his chest. The blonde woman clutched at him, burying her face into his shoulder, and trying to summon the strength she seemed to have lost ever since hearing of her fiancé's injuries. When a hand threaded through her hair, Diana fought for words, but was unable to find the right ones to describe how she felt at the moment, though Berkeley was fast to find them instead.

"I said what needed to be said; nothing more, nothing less. That's all there to it."  

-----------------------------------

            It was only when Dee had smoked his way through two packs of cigarettes that he paused in his smoking, refusing to flick away the white stick he had but lit a moment ago, and leaned more heavily against the wall behind his back, closing his eyes as if to close his mind from the chaos it had recently experienced. Chain-smoking would not help his situation in the least, and if Dee continued the task he was currently undertaking, his supply of the slim cylinders would dwindle down significantly.

            Unconsciously, the raven-haired man slipped his free hand through one of the openings in his button-down shirt, and ran his fingers over the three long claw marks that marred his upper chest and part of his shoulder. Instead of the abrasive surface he had expected to encounter, Dee started when his exploration revealed smooth and slightly jagged lines, the wounds healing much faster than he had anticipated. In fact, if the stunned man thought about it long enough, the pain that had come with breathing these last few days had stopped altogether when he hadn't even been aware of it.

            More than a little stressed at his discovery, Dee quickly ran a hand down the line of buttons, and discarded the shirt (and the cigarette, which he ground against the wall as he was getting up) to the bed he had been perched upon, before heading to the small bathroom but a few feet away. Sure enough, the redness of the marks had faded, and only a vague outline gave an idea that he had been injured at all. Well aware his breath was running short, and his eyes were nearly the size of saucers, Dee leaned over the bathroom counter, and forced himself to take long steady breaths.

            When his heart was not pounding so fiercely in his chest, the raven-haired man looked up, his emerald eyes looking more pronounced than usual, as the bright green color had darkened slightly. Telling himself that the speed of which his wounds had healed was nothing to worry about, that it could been anything that had prompted the process and not lycanthropy as his mind kept providing unhelpfully, Dee wondered if he was in denial, or it was really something which he shouldn't bother over.

Both options did not lead him to a solution, and with a quiet groan of frustration, the man returned to his task of chain-smoking; hoping the amount of nicotine might lend him an answer he couldn't find himself. 

--------------------------------------------

            Slipping from the bed quietly, Randy crept across the length of the bedroom floor easily, putting on a pair of boxers and jeans plucked hastily from his opened dresser drawers, before closing the door softly. The Resistance leader entered the kitchen, his hands automatically reaching for a mug from the cabinets situated along the upper wall. Jerking an instant coffee pocket from the small pantry, Randy quickly heated the water he had filled the mug with, and mixed the two items together, the smell itself lending him some measure of comfort.

            When his parents had been alive and well, his mother had always favored coffee as her beverage of choice, even when his father had expressed a distaste to both the smell and taste of the liquid, she had still drank the stuff regularly. Now, it served as a reminder of days long since past, and though Randy would not usually drink coffee, he allowed himself to enjoy the hot liquid as much as he could, the remnants of the worries in the back of his mind dissipated, finally leaving the man in peace.

            Though he had not been expecting Leo to stay as long as he had, and certainly not spending most of that time within the covers of his bed, Randy found he couldn't summon any negative feeling for the older man, and allowed a small amount of appreciation bury itself in his now tensionless body. As a method of distraction, Leo had worked wonders, and it was with a light smile that the Resistance leader lowered the volume of his answering machine, and checked his messages.

            As the slightly annoyed tone of J.J. filled the air, Randy scoffed, raising a hand to skip ahead to his other messages, since he considered J.J.'s words unimportant, as they did not tell him of anything he didn't already know. When Diana's unhurried words spoke, the Japanese-American paused, listening carefully:

            "I know you didn't want to hear from me so soon, but since my message from Drake didn't prompt you to pay a visit to the hospital, or pick up a phone, I thought I might give you a call. I just wanted you to be aware that I am sorry, about our discussion in Berk's hospital room, and…everything else. If everything were different, none of this would have happened. I…oh, dammit."

            At the abrupt end of the message, Randy regarded the phone silently as it announced there were no more messages to play, and beeped once loudly, a shrill thing that made his head ache for a brief heartbeat. The clear concern and frustration that had laced the words throughout Diana's message worried the Resistance leader, as Berkeley's fiancée usually kept her emotions in check, and held the significance of her words in high regard. Shaking his head confusedly, Randy took another sip of his coffee, and pondered why he had heard no news of Dee's reappearance.

             Usually, when something of this kind occurred, the escaped werker victim could either be found dead (killed by the Resistance or something else entirely), or the person would be located within a few hours; it was highly unlikely that Dee could have managed to find a secure residence so swiftly, which led Randy to believe that perhaps the wounded man had managed to get hold of someone who had connections, or something of the like, since nary a Resistance member had yet to report with any information, and the members of his organization were usually very reliable in these matters.

            Displeased with the current circumstances, the Resistance leader drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp, and after placing the mug into the kitchen sink, returned to the bedroom where he looked onto the slumbering figure of Leo before frowning, and jerking the pillow upon which the older man rested his head, away viciously.

------------------------------

The man who served as a convenient target for venting Randy's anger, started, dark gray eyes going wide when he realized just who had disturbed him, and how pissed off the scarred man in question seemed. Glad he was too intelligent for his own good, Leo swallowed the curses that would have poured forth from his mouth, and smiled nervously at the Japanese-American's still figure, who after a moment moved about the bedroom, picking up Leo's clothes, and then tossing them to whom they rightfully belonged a bit roughly.

Catching the small pile of clothes easily, the older man stood up, paying no heed to his nude state, or the suddenly intense gaze of Randy's on him, as he pulled on the slightly rumpled suit and started for the door, only to be pulled back by a pale hand on his arm. Stunned by the quick kiss Randy gave him, the meeting of mouths both a intense and sweet experience, Leo was only further amazed at the pleasant expression on the Resistance leader's face as he finished the action; the gray-eyed man could only stare in wonder at unexpected display of affection.

Before the older man could speak however, Randy pressed against his back, guiding him to the apartment door and opening it; Leo, knowing when to take a hint, merely nodded and was about to close the door himself, when the younger man spoke. "I'm usually too preoccupied with other matters to say this, so…thank you, for helping me to forget myself, even just for while. It was very much appreciated."

  Allowing a smirk to overcome his mouth, Leo leaned forward, clutching the length of Randy's jaw lightly in his hand, and met the unusually interested gaze of his somewhat lover. "Believe me, Randy, it was my pleasure."

As the pale man pulled away, and began to let the door close, Leo muttered to himself, pleased beyond words that his actions had helped to make the load of some stress and worries lift considerably. "My pleasure, indeed."

-------------------------------------

            After nodding his thanks to the vendor on the corner of the street once more, Drake Parker wandered back over to the small group of Resistance members he had joined a few hours ago, and after everyone was accounted for, so the man didn't have to remind himself, Drake told what he had found out, which in truth wasn't much at all. It was a small shred of a scattered puzzle no one had yet figured out how to piece together.

            "Vendor over there tells me that someone matching Dee's description went by at about four 'o clock in the afternoon, following a kid of about thirteen years of age, but that's all he remembers of the kid, since he only glanced over once, and didn't pay it much mind."

            After glancing about the group, and seeing not many take interest, he asked what they had found out, and one of the new Resistance members that had joined but two weeks ago, a woman of six feet in height, burly enough that she held her own among the other gathered men, with dark blue eyes and cropped red hair, spoke, Natasha Johnston's voice a tiny squeaky thing compared to other women's voices. "One of the homeless on the bench around here told me a strange thing, a very strange thing, in fact, I thought he was drunk at first but after thinking it over, I think he was telling the truth.

            "He spoke of an alleyway, that several people had disappeared through, and never come out, as if the darkness had swallowed them up, like they were some delicious morsel. Perhaps if we survey the area, we'll find some kind of trapdoor, or opening of some kind? It's worth a shot compared to the other information we've managed to gather."

            Drake thought the matter over before reluctantly agreeing with Natasha's suggestion, and after he had sent them to search their chosen sections, shook his head, dissatisfied with how this manhunt was going. One man could not vanish such as Dee had, not unless he had some connections or at the very least some powerful friend that could afford to go to lengths to conceal him. About to go search as well, one of the Resistance member's voices yelled loudly, catching his attention within a second.

            "Drake! I think we've hit the jackpot!" Quickly going over to where Jackson was located, Drake was soon looking over the man's shoulder, at a single silt of light that reflected on them, and the brick wall behind them. Narrowing his eyes confusedly, the man waved away Jackson, and put a hand out, expecting to feel the rough surface of brick and falling just short of it, as his fingers rubbed against a clearly smooth surface.             Frowning now, he continued his inspection, coming to the conclusion the surface against his hand was clearly wooden, and after his hand caught on a knob, Drake grinned, his expression on the edge of triumphant as he pulled the door open.

            The brick wall image shimmered before disappearing, as Drake fully opened the door to its limit, and gazed down a set of stairs that led to yet another doorway that lingered on the end of the last step. As one of the men stepped forward, the fast becoming-experienced member of the Resistance shook his head, swiftly closing the door, and allowing the illusion that concealed the door to fall back upon it.

            "We don't yet know if this passageway leads to Dee or not, so let's regroup with everyone else, and then let Randy know what we've found. Just remember what street and which alleyway the opening is in," Drake said, his tone clipped and full of authority, as the group he had been assigned with followed in his wake. "I have a feeling someone is going to be very contented if indeed that passageway leads to Dee, very contented indeed."

To Be Continued…    


	7. Shifting Perception

Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).

[Written off and on from August 21st to November 23rd of 2003]

[Last edited on July 6th of 2004]

----------------------------------

"Mad Season" 

Chapter Seven: Shifting Perception

_More than the bandages adorning his person, more than the lack of depth perception, there was a wound that could not be starched no matter the method of covering it, a deep fearful wound carved into the heart of one man. One lone dark gray eye traveled over the hospital room, taking in the sickening white walls, the flowers which threatened to crowd the surface of the table placed next to the hospital bed, the open window ushering in the air of the coming twilight, until the eye closed, and the mouth positioned just below it scoffed. _

_            A pale hand slightly shaking reached out to grasp the glass of water stationed nearby over to the man's left only to go wide, miscalculating the distance significantly, and in a sudden fit of frustration and anger, Randy McLane, after taking hold of the glass hurled it into the wall, relishing in the sharp sure shattering reverberation that broke the laden silence surrounding him. Flinching in pain as his eyes narrowed, Randy looked down on the broken remains of the glass, and laughed, the sound coming off as despairing with tenderness lingering just beyond it. _

_            "I'm aware the doctor said your depth perception would be screwed to all hell, but he didn't mention your demeanor becoming unpleasant, or the way you're placing all the blame for the incident upon yourself. If you don't stop beating yourself up, you'll fast be dead within a few days, Randy," A masculine voice sounded from the suddenly open doorway, and the wounded man turned, his body language ringing discomfort. _

_            "Berkeley, what the hell are you doing here? I was so sure I told the nurses that I wished not to receive any visitors, even from my own blood relatives. Why are you the exception to the rule?" Randy bit out, crossing his arms but after feeling a stab of pain, readjusted, laying back against the ever-uncomfortable hospital bed and laying his arms on his stomach instead. _

_              "When someone refuses medication, rejects all human comfort, treats the nurses like dirt, and ignores doctor's orders, there is cause for alarm, and I've been recruited to "tame," you as it were," Berkeley said lightly, his tone implying disapprove of Randy's actions and more, as the dark blonde took a seat at the chair just across the hospital bed, and stared at the Japanese-American steadily. _

_            It was a bitter, unhappy laugh that escaped from Randy's lips, and he grounded a glare, albeit a weak one but no less effective towards his friend who shifted uncomfortably. "They expect me to just sit quietly, and play the role of the nice submissive patient? Not possible when your left eye's nearly been gouged out, and your chest ripped to all hell just a week ago. You want to know what they said?"_

_Berkeley Rose sat silently, providing a quiet ear to Randy's troubles, which the man had been ignoring quite well until now, so into his venting was Randy that he did not notice the second figure that stood just outside the open doorway. "'It could have been worse. Had the animal that attacked you not been prevented, you would not be alive today, Mr. McLane, for it was headed for your heart, and it would have obtained it had your friends not arrived on the scene. You should be grateful you escaped with your life.'" _

_"I should be grateful," Randy whispered bitterly, the word tasting more of poison than speech, and when the good eye of the wounded man's began to tear up, Berkeley stood, coming to rest just beside Randy's suddenly stiff and silent figure. "What the hell do they know anyway? It was not an animal that attacked me in the first place. I-It was something else, something that managed to pin me to the closet door, and had its claws in me before I could scarcely draw a breath."_

_Two pale hands gripped Berkeley's upper arms, and almost panicked, Randy looked up, seeking understanding when he couldn't himself comprehend what had occurred himself in the darkness of that bedroom. "Do you understand? It wasn't human or beast! It wasn't Bikky at all, with all that fur, that unnatural strength- t-those damn fucking amber eyes, those sharp, nearly steel claws that sliced into me all too easily!"_

_Randy blinked unknowingly when Berkeley very carefully transferred his hands to the covers underneath him, and wiped the numerous bleeding nail marks on his right arm with a corner of the sheet clean, before looking towards the Japanese-American curiously. "Just what are you saying, Randy? Are you seriously implying that your adopted son's disappearance and your injuries from that night are directly related; are you saying that it was Bikky that nearly killed you, that he had changed into something…not himself, Randy?"_

_"Are you insinuating that werewolves exist in this day and age? Because if you are, I'm afraid that the animal that attacked not only harmed your body, but also scarred your mind as well. That's insane, to imply such a thing, so insane I cannot believe that I'm hearing it from you of all people." Randy's reaction was clearly not one Berkeley was expecting, as the dark blonde started when the pale man grabbed hold of his waist tightly, and buried his head against Berkeley's right shoulder, speaking lowly as if trying to contain the emotion buried with the words._

_"I am saying exactly that, Berkeley, because it is true…for I saw Bikky thrash among his sheets; clutch the sides of his bed so tightly that one of his fingers cracked beneath the pressure. I saw muscles and bone rearrange themselves beneath ebony skin, and I cannot get it out of my mind; it keeps playing over and over like some horrendous nightmare. That is what has been setting me on edge, because I can't carry the burden of this knowledge alone, I can't seek him out without some assistance, some support from whomever chooses to believe my tale."_

_Berkeley slowly raised Randy's gaze to his own, and after affirming that the Japanese-American was indeed telling the truth, or what he believed to be the truth, nodded just once, but this action alone made the water in Randy's eye spill outward, trailing down his pale cheek like glass. _

_The relief in the wounded man's figure showed immediately and quite visibly, the shoulders slowly shifting from their hunching, the line of tension running through Randy's body dissipating, and lastly, the shadow that had been haunting the man's features inched away, proving that maybe from here on out, Randy would be much better in the near future._

_"All right, I understand, and I will assist you in every way I can, since you'll probably be helpless on your own, and on your first encounter with a berwerker, do nothing more than provide more cannon fodder," Berkeley said as he wiped away the lone tear that had fallen, ever careful of the man's recent injuries, before gently pushing Randy back against the bed, adjusting the man's pillow so it supported his back suitably. _

_Randy glanced at Berkeley confusedly; puzzlement plainly etched into his features as well as a thread of curiosity, and when he spoke, his voice was only at half strength. "I appreciate your assistance and support, more than you will ever know, Berkeley however, what the hell does berwerker mean?" _

_Chuckling underneath his breath, Berkeley smiled before standing up and kneeling down besides the rashly thrown remains of the glass, amusement quite clear in his figure even from Randy's position on the bed. "I see someone needs to brush up on their mythology a bit, since 'berwerker' is one of two Norse words for werewolf, though it's not used very often now. The original term was reserved for Northern Norse warriors who had taken to wearing animal skins during battle, going berserk in the process, war-mad and bloodthirsty, it would seen if history is any indication."_

_Randy stared from his hospital bed, unconsciously rubbing a thumb over the palm of his left hand, and as he watched, Berkeley finished collecting the pieces of glass and after depositing them in the garage pail in the corner glanced back at Randy whose expression was still bordering on puzzlement. "Where did you pick up this bit of information? I've never heard the term werker, or rather berwerker in my entire life, so how the hell do you know it?" _

_As Randy expected, Berkeley just smiled mysteriously, patting the Japanese-American's shoulder briefly before heading for the door, though turning back before completely exiting the room. "I take it you will start treating everyone will comes through this door nicely, or at least civilly, and you will heed others' advice, correct?"_

_Frowning deeply, and more than a little put off by his friend's aversion to his question, the wounded man said nothing, treating Berkeley to a stiff nod and then looked closely at the area of the halfway doorframe. "Did Diana come with you to the hospital as well?" _

_Through the narrow silt between wood and paneling, Randy spied a sudden shifting of black material, and smiled to himself, though the action was more a display of teeth than anything else. Berkeley himself looked unfazed by the question, and skillfully dropped a line about the woman having important business elsewhere, which was technically true if she had come to see Randy, and hadn't made her presence known. _

_Briefly, Randy spared a thought about what the blonde woman had seen and listened to but dismissed it, as Diana was not one to make judgments upon others without suitable evidence presented. And if the injuries the Japanese-American had suffered were not evidence enough…_

_Throughout the rest of the night, despite Berkeley's declaration that he would assist Randy in his quest, the wounded man could not shake the image of deep burning amber eyes from his dreams, and sleep was nary to be found, as it had been the night before. _

--------------------------------------------------------

            It took Dee a moment to realize he was no longer alone in the room, and lazily, he opened one eye to take in the rather unhappy presence leaning against his open doorway, starting upon recognizing the bandaged face of Zeke, and the lone green eye that glared venomously in his general direction. Making haste in an effort to sit up, the raven-haired man accidentally kicked aside his bag from the end of the bed, and chuckled uneasily when the werker let out a long-suffering sigh, and knelt down to retrieve Dee's bag.

            Acting on instinct, and denying any common sense, which happened to come to him, Dee swiftly got onto his feet, and lashed out, his left fist catching Zeke in the throat, or more specifically, the area around the windpipe. Immediately, the man dropped to the ground, wheezing loudly and clutching his throat desperately, trying to get oxygen to flow freely again in the injured area.

Before he could make good his escape, Dee grunted as something jerked him roughly off his feet, and as he struggled to stand up, the raven-haired man took in the dozen or so werkers which had come to surround him before coming to his feet, and glared openly, not pleased in the least to have his first escape attempt thwarted so easily. Movement behind him, in the room he had tried to leave, made Dee flinch and the slightly trembling hand he had been expecting came to rest on his shoulder, slowly moving him to face the very aggravated, and somewhat exhausted face of Zeke.

"You place little trust into your own strength, Dee, because that blow would have killed a human being," The werker all but hissed out, reaching out to lay a hand on his attacker's left cheek before back-handing Dee roughly, stopping his descent to the ground by grabbing the raven-haired man's shirt collar. Heaving a deep breath, Dee turned his head to spit; quite sure Zeke's blow had wrought blood about if the coppery taste in his mouth was any indication.

"Good thing you're not human, eh?" Dee replied, voice coming out an octave lower than normal, and as he continued speaking, his voice lowered into a rough whisper. "Then again, you probably weren't human to begin with, even before contracting lycanthropy."

As he had been anticipating the punch, Dee found it easier to take than expected though his jaw begin to ache fiercely after a few seconds had passed, and within a minute the man was sure the mark would show well into the next day. When a knee collided with his midsection however, he couldn't fight his body's collapse onto the dirt floor beneath him, and as Dee fought for breath, it was pure luck he ducked Zeke's next blow, a kick that would have connected with his head had the raven-haired man not dodged.

It was pure pride and stubbornness that allowed Dee to stumble onto his feet again and meet his abuser's gaze squarely without any hint of weakness showing visibly save for his slightly uneven breathing. "If you makes you feel better to hit me after being bested by me in that room, then feel free to go nuts. Just keep in mind a real man, werker or not, wouldn't have to resort to violence to make himself feel better."

It was a female voice that answered him, and even without turning around to check, Dee knew it was Ilona, who sounded highly amused by the situation currently occurring. "Quite right. But even I am amazed that the man I had sent to deliver a message to our independent would take to beating him within five minutes when I had specifically requested no harm be done to Dee."

Immediately, the werker whose eye had been ravaged bowed lowly, muttering apologies underneath his breath but as the raven-haired man took in this scene, Zeke's gaze was fixed solely on him, promising violence, much worse than what he had managed to inflict today. "Unless Dee provoked Zeke first, then I cannot be held accountable for my follower's behavior, since those who seek conflict must face the results of their actions."

Barely resisting the urge to curse, Dee settled for taking a seat on the floor, holding a hand to his now aching head, and trying very hard to ignore the new aches and pains his body had sustained. After some movement to his left, and a silent exchange between the werker leader and those who followed her, there was a brief fit of laughter on Ilona's part before her pleasant face melted into a unreadable mask, and silently, she motioned to Zeke who very smugly approached Dee's somewhat fallen figure, and grinned widely. "You will not be given the chance to escape again, Mr. Laytner. Please subdue him without any further delay, Zeke."

Before he could draw in the breath to speak, something crashed hard against his ribs, and as Dee tried to prevent anymore of his ribs from being abused, for he was sure something had cracked from Zeke's brutal kick, a spike of white hot pain exploded on his forehead, and rather than endure anymore blows, Dee heeded the darkness that had begun to gather on the edge of his mind, and fell into blissful unconsciousness.

-------------------------------------------------          

As Zeke wiped a few traces of blood from his left boot with the corner of his shirt, Ilona came to stand over their independent's figure and silently moved Dee about until she could lift the man's T-shirt high enough to see the claw marks, which had stood out so clearly on his skin but a day ago; now, white colored scars on tan skin. Narrowing her brow, the werker leader continued her examination, looking over the newest set of injuries Dee had gotten in the past hour, and after a moment, Ilona bit her bottom lip as if deliberating on some major issue.

"Where did you first hit him, Zeke?" Ilona asked casually, tucking the wounded man's shirt back against Dee's person before taking a moment to check his pulse, and after nodding to herself, the woman looked to her subordinate meaningfully. Said man came out of his violence-induced daze, and quickly supplied an answer to his leader's question. "H-His left cheek; backhanded the bastard in fact. Why?"

Lightly placing a finger on the rapidly diminishing bruise that was fast losing it's shape, Ilona watched Zeke's face go from passive to angered within a second, and she smiled, mostly to herself before giving Dee's healing cheek a soft caress. Ilona stood, barking orders at two nearby werkers to take the man back to his room. As they began to lift the independent up, the werker leader began walking back through her private quarters, barely acknowledging Zeke who followed silently in her wake.

"You know what it means, for you've seen it thousands of times before. It's a sign, a definite sign," Ilona said quietly as she passed through the curtains of her quarters, and after taking a seat on the edge of her bed, glanced at the werker who had served as her right-hand for sometime now. Zeke himself only nodded, taking a seat on his leader's bed when she gave no protest to the action.

"He has to be prepared."

------------------------------------------------------

            Drake took another sip of the coffee within his cup before looking on at Randy who stared back expressionless, no doubt thinking either of his subordinate's recent discovery or why he had come to the Resistance leader's apartment without company. The last could be explained well enough, as J.J. was still stationed in front of Berkeley's hospital room (though no attacks seemed forthcoming), and the Resistance members he had joined in the search for Dee had declined accompanying him.

Though Drake couldn't blame them, as Randy wasn't exactly the easiest person to get along with, or tolerate. The scarred man's silence was beginning to unnerve him, as Randy had digested the information Drake revealed but so far, had said nothing in reply. Coughing once, Drake watched as the Resistance leader seemed to refocus on his figure before leaning back in the kitchen chair across from Drake, and crossing his arms.

"So to be blunt, you and the others found an entrance which may or may not lead to Dee, but is of interest anyway? I suppose if it's the only clue you've found to his whereabouts, we will have investigate it, though cautiously for we have no idea what lies beyond the entrance."

Nodding silently, Drake took another sip of his drink, and after a moment of deliberation, decided to ask that which had been plaguing his mind for the last few days. "Once we find Dee, what is going to happen to him?"

The Resistance member resisted shivering though the urge to do so was quite strong, as the sudden coldness in Randy's gaze was such a switch from the usual neutral expression Drake was used to observing. "If we find him, punishment will dealt out accordingly, that is if his body has decided whether to remain human. If he is to become a part of the increasing werker population, termination is inevitable."

Not heeding the usual cautionary warning his mind provided, Drake found his mouth moving before he could stop it, to ask, "How can you talk about such things so lightly? I can well understand the fact that werkers need to be killed because of all the damage they cause to humans, but you're talking about a human being, granted one on the edge of change, but a human nonetheless."

Without missing a beat, Randy responded, his voice dead, though a thread of anger was evident in his tone. "You become emotional in whatever work you do? If you don't maintain a safe distance between your emotions and your work, you will only be able to do one, and I would prefer you do work than mainly feel sorry for werkers and/or werker victims."

"That may be true, but you cannot abandon emotions altogether. After all, what makes you get together with Leo at times?" Realizing what he'd just said, Drake prevented his next mass of words from coming out, and quietly stewed, sipping his coffee to prevent himself from looking at Randy's face, but as the Resistance leader spoke, curiosity became the better of Drake, and his eyes met Randy's, which were slightly more animated than they had been before.

"That…is an exception. I don't love Leo, but I at least feel some fondness for him, for all he's done for me in the past and here, in the present. I don't think I could have survived this long without his help, and no doubt, you've met someone similar yourself. J.J. perhaps? I have noticed you two bonded rather quickly after meeting. Or maybe you two have already moved beyond friendship and into a relationship?"

Unable to stop himself from feeling astonishment, Drake just stared at Randy's somewhat smug figure, and tried to think of how false or true his assessment of their friendship was, and found a hint of feelings for J.J., but it was far from a crush. The Resistance member merely held respect for his associate, nothing more.

Or at least that was what Drake told himself at the moment. "We're not involved that way, and I don't think we ever will be. But yes, I do know what you mean by finding strength in another person when otherwise you would not have been able to go on living."

"Pity," Randy merely quipped as he got up, grabbing Drake's nearly empty coffee cup and refilling it without comment before taking his seat once again, this time, his stance somehow more professional than before. "How do suggest we go about investigating that entrance you and the others found? If we put together a large enough team, I doubt much damage will be taken but it might be a bit much if once we move beyond the entrance, it turns out to be only an decrepit room or the like."

Aware of his inexperience, as he had only been in Resistance for so long, Drake tried to think of what possible scenarios would work, and which would not, briefly deliberating before speaking. "Even if the entrance is nothing more than an empty room, we should assemble a team that is able to defend against any harm that may befall them, for I doubt we want to be under cautious when it comes to situations like this."

"True enough. I have other things to attend to, and as you've spent some time with some of the Resistance members long enough, I'll leave you with the task of assembling such a team though I would have to approve the list before you put it into use. If you find you need assistance, call upon J.J. or Diana and they will be sure to provide the names of those who are talented enough for this assignment," Randy said evenly before holding up a hand as he went into his bedroom, ruffling around in a corner that held a large cardboard box, and finally pulling out a large folder that upon investigation was a list of the known Resistance members, with all the contact information stored next to said names.

Nodding his thanks, Drake drained the rest of the his coffee, and started to walk towards the door, intent on getting the task he was handed done swiftly so he could get some R & R in, given how busy he had been the last few days. Randy gave the Resistance member a quiet thank you before firmly closing the apartment door behind Drake's back. Scoffing lightly, despite the fact he was used to his leader's behavior by now, Drake shook his head before heading off to the hospital once again so he could get some input on the job put before him by one who had been in the Resistance for quite some time.

J.J.

-------------------------------------------------

            "Uh," Dee muttered eloquently as he awoke [1], immediately bringing a hand to his forehead as he thought of the actions that had happened before he had passed out, and as he touched dried blood, the raven-haired man quickly came to his feet, nearly cursing when a wave of dizziness overcame his vision. Settling back down on the edge of the bed, Dee raised his shirt, focusing on the ugly bruises that marred his midsection, and as he prodded the area, further investigation found that at least one of his ribs were broken, though Dee could have sworn something more had cracked inside of him.

              Blessing his good fortune (or rather, his bad considering why he had gotten beat up in the first place), the injured man went into the small bathroom connected to the room and tried to wash most of blood staining his person off, though after five minutes of this, Dee discovered more bruises than he would have preferred. Desperate to satisfy his sudden nicotine craving, the raven-haired man crossed the distance from the bathroom to the bed in a second, pulling a white cylinder from the cigarette pack situated on the end of his bed, before fingering the lighter in his pocket.

            After flicking the lighter once, Dee glared as no flame had sprung up from the small device, and as he tried it again, he cursed out loud when nothing happened before throwing the exhausted lighter into a far corner, finding some satisfaction at the small ping that echoed around the room. Had he packed another lighter in his haste to get his belongings together, or had his mind completely forgotten that? Ruffling through his bag took a moment, but as his hand touched a certain shape, Dee grinned to himself before pulling out his alternative lighter and touching the flame to the end of his cigarette.

            Taking a long drag, the man thought darkly to himself, of the violence promised in Zeke's gaze however many hours ago, and Ilona's sudden coldness towards him before setting the angry werker who served as her right hand on his already wounded figure. "At least Ryo never followed through on his threats," Dee said irritated that the circumstances had turned out this way, though he blamed half of it on himself, as he had stupidly tried to escape when it was indeed impossible.

            "Do they really need an independent that badly, to spare my life even though I tried that shit?" As prone to violence as werkers were, it seemed that they had some measure of restraint of their actions, as Zeke had stopped beating Dee had soon as Ilona had arrived on the scene and yet…

Shaking his head, the raven-haired man took another long drag on his cigarette before regarding the food that had been placed near the floor of the end of his bed, hours ago if the nearly rotten split apple was any indication. As it was, a can of Diet Pepsi, a glass of water, a bag of plain potato chips, a sandwich wrap of some kind, and a small chocolate chip cookie seemed edible, and as Dee started on his meal, the pain associated with his wounds lessened a bit, though he himself took no notice.

            Just as he was about to take another bite of the sandwich wrap, a sudden thump against the door of his room startled him, and quickly, Dee investigated the sound, stunned to find his door had not been locked, considering his escape attempt earlier in the day.

            Upon opening the door an inch, a splatter of red (blood!) caught his eye, and further investigation proved the blood to belong to a woman, or at least that's what the furred being resembled. Propped up against the door as she was, details were the last thing on Dee's mind, as he was mainly interested in finding out why the werker had been hurt and if he would need to find some means of protection.

            It was then that Dee realized the noise he had been unconsciously blocking out was loud- so loud was the yelling, screaming, basic sounds of panic seemed to be everywhere. Thinking of what had made the werkers gathered in this location scurry so, Dee barely held back a gasp before shoving the door wide open, and taking a step in the chaos the werker safe house had become.

            The general order that Dee had witnessed while in this place seemed nonexistent, for no one seemed stationary, and with a flash of a familiar face, the raven-haired man nodded to himself before following in Drake's wake, taking up a fallen switchblade in case the need to protect himself came about.

            Halfway across the main floor, a body stalled his progress, more specifically the shifted body of Zeke, who just taken a shotgun blast to the lower body. Stunned to find the Resistance used such weapons, Dee attributed his lack of coordination to this discovery, and stumbled over the fallen body before him, almost cutting his hand on the open switchblade.

            For Zeke's part, he merely groaned, sent his assailant a vicious glare and then passed out without a single word, after which Dee looked up to find the hardened gaze of a Resistance member who after a moment moved on, to go after a blur of brown to Dee's left. Holding back a hiss as he got up, he continued on his way, trying his best to keep out of the skirmishes between Resistance member and werker, or sometimes werker versus werker, if bloodlust drove them to it.

            '_"In my opinion, both the werkers and the Resistance are monsters, not just one side,"' _Dee thought to himself, thinking the phrase he had uttered to be too true, as he looked over the main floor, and took in the scenery that was personal revenge, justice and if one looked closely enough, sorrow. _The ones who get pulled into this war, like me, have no choice but to choose a side, and fight from it, even if they have no reason to. Where's the justice in that? _

Jumping back as a Resistance member crossed his path, running from something just out of range of his vision, Dee made use of his switchblade, cutting through a half-transformed arm/forearm, and before the raven-haired man could react, a sudden pain blazed across his stomach, and in a daze, Dee looked down to find something peeking out through the large injury. As he brought an arm over his stomach to keep everything within his body inside where it belonged, the werker that had attacked him was just closing in to hand out more violence before being shot squarely in the head.

            Looking up at his rescuer through rapidly darkening vision, the ashen scars on the man's face made Dee grin, though it was more a bearing of teeth than anything before he fell forward, his body taken too much, too fast for him to stay conscious long. Ryo caught him well enough, and as he was held, Dee attempted to speak but a sudden spasm of pain caught hold of him and he coughed roughly instead, becoming aware of the salty taste inside of his mouth.

            What was it he wanted to say again? Something about 'tis better to roam with the beasts than beasts wearing the guise of men [2],' but as Dee tried to think of the exact phrase, darkness, something he was all too familiar with these days, overcame him and lost in it he became.

---------------------------------------

            After compiling a list of Resistance members with the right amount of experience and expertise, Drake took to calling them, watching as J.J. went about exploring his apartment, looking through the man's CD collection, peering at the prints situated at the walls until finally, after Drake hung up the phone on the last person he needed to call, he mentioned that it was rude to go through a person's things without asking.

            "But if I don't go through your belongings, how am I ever going to learn anything about you, given you don't talk about yourself much at all?" J.J. quipped rather cheerfully before pulling a DVD from one of the shelves of Drake's entertainment center and raving about how he thought he was the only one who liked the film.

             While Drake was shaking his head to himself, J.J. suddenly loomed over him, the happy exterior he had been wearing all but nonexistent, looking so serious. "I mean; I don't even know why you joined the Resistance. I keep thinking that maybe it was because someone close to you had been killed by them, but you haven't ever mentioned a significant other, in past tense or present." 

            Turning his head uncomfortably, Drake eyed the calendar lying on the wall near him, and without realizing he was speaking told of his reasons, during which J.J. took a seat at the kitchen counter and listened quietly. "I was a cop, a detective to be exact, and while investigating a public disturbance at an apartment building, me and my partner, Ted, were just on our way to the apartment someone had called to complain about, when something came down the hallway.

            "It was large, furry, and bearing teeth threateningly as it approached, and though I didn't know it then, it was a werker, a disoriented one at that, and while Ted fired at it repeatedly, distracting it suitably enough, I went ahead to the apartment and found a woman lying in shreds in the living room. The situation only got worse from there, as the wounded werker had managed to tear into my partner's shoulder, and it was only luck that a neighbor had heard the commotion, and came into the hallway bearing a shotgun.

            "None of my, or Ted's bullets had slowed it down, and after taking a blast to the stomach and head, the werker finally slowed its movement and died. After that, backup arrived and soon enough, Ted was taken to the hospital while I stayed to collect witness testimonies, but halfway through the task, just as a few men were bagging the body, the werker transformed back to human. This turned more than a few heads, including mine, and once back at the precinct, I reported to the chief as best I could, citing witness testimony as my evidence for the events that had occurred."

----------------------------------------           

There was a brief silence, and as J.J. looked over at Drake questionably, the sight of the man's agonized face made the Resistance member give pause before standing and very carefully pulling Drake close against him. Oddly enough, Drake gave no complaint, even when J.J. drew an arm over the man's shoulders, and after a moment continued speaking, this time his voice took on an emotionless edge as if by putting no feeling behind it, he wouldn't experience what had happened to him again.

            "During the next few days, I found out that Ted had not just suffered shoulder injuries, but also internal bleeding, and other such injuries. I later learned my partner had been hospitalized, and while he recovered, I set about investigating any other incidents of animal attacks, specifically involving those who fit the description of a werker, before finally compiling a report and appealing to my police chief about whether or not something would be done about such animals being let loose on the public.

            "I was told quite bluntly, to forget about the incident my partner and I had been involved in, and get on with my job and life, and without uttering one word, I laid my badge and guns on the desk and left the precinct, sure my actions had spoken for me. When I heard Ted hadn't recovered from his injuries, and died after slipping into a coma, my resolve only strengthened, and I found out about the Resistance through a friend and the rest you know."

            It was a few minutes before J.J. could find words, but when he did, he made sure they were uttered sincerely since it had to have been hard on Drake to reveal the information he had. "It seems no one joins the Resistance without good reason. Thank you for telling me, Drake, really." The head resting against his midsection just nodded, and before long, Drake pulled away from J.J., looking over the list of people he had called earlier, as if looking for a distraction from his memories and the current situation he had found himself in. 

            Smiling to himself, J.J. sat down once again, and without preamble, began explaining how the Resistance reconnaissance would go later that night, noting that the shadows haunting Drake's face slowly melted away.

-------------------------------

            Randy has not planned to attend this Resistance event but after discussing it with J.J., decided to come along anyway, if only to see if what Drake and the others had discovered was worth all the trouble this excursion had been to plan. As the designated team leader rambled off instructions and advice, Randy looked about, noting Drake and J.J. standing nearby, talking quietly to each other, already well versed in how Resistance operations tended to proceed, so the scarred man left them be, turning to examine the false entrance they were going to investigate.

            At first glance, it appeared to be just part of the wall, but after looking closely, and feeling about, the entrance was hollow, and according to others led to a small stairway that led to a wooden door- to somewhere. The group tonight was equipped with weapons but Randy himself doubted they would be needed, but it never hurt to be prepared, and as the team leader walked over to the entrance, Randy followed near the end of the group, clutching a closed switchblade in his jean pocket.

            Though he never would turn down a gun if offered, tonight, Randy felt safe enough with just his switchblade, as the weapon had been cast in silver and do suitable enough damage without much noise or flash. The darkness of the stairway enveloped them, and as they proceeded farther, the sound of a door being opened was clearly evident from his position in the group, and then there was silence as he and the others entered the large room.

            There was lighting and doors littering the walls of the room, and as the team leader, a rough spoken woman by the name of Sakura Jenkins stepped forward, something part fur and flesh suddenly took her down within a second, and as the Resistance group scrambled to defend themselves, Randy pulled out his own weapon and looked to his left, opening the first door he saw before taking a look at a couple just awakened from their slumber, peering in alarm at his sudden entrance.

            There was no thinking involved as Randy stepped forward, and took advantage of their hesitation, slitting the male's throat cleanly, and taking hold of the female werker's right arm tightly, who squirmed in his grasp roughly, the flesh beneath his hand slowly becoming something else altogether. Her nails, becoming sharper by the moment, raked down his arms, but Randy swiftly put a stop to all her movement by inserting his switchblade into her windpipe, nearly decapitating the werker without much movement on his part.

            There was a small sound in the corner of the room, and after dropping the now-deceased woman back to the bed, the scarred man found a cradle, which held a baby of perhaps more than three months in it, who after seeing Randy's bloodied form cried loudly, making the Resistance wince as he kneeled next to the cradle. The unusually hairy body of the baby gave it away as not of the human world, and without hesitating, Randy made sure it would not live beyond this night before standing and cleaning off his switchblade silently. 

            Once back out into the main room, he found the Resistance group had spread, combating the werkers as they came about from every nook and cranny it appeared, and as Randy worked his way across the large room, a familiar figure at one of the doors made the Resistance leader's eyes widen before a clawed forearm caught him in the shoulder and he had to turn to defend himself properly.

            It took him a few minutes to fully cross the length of the room, and Randy lost his switchblade somewhere along the line, but as he looked around for Dee again, he only found the somewhat beat up man as he was standing onto his feet, obviously having tripped over an injured werker. Then, a blur of motion as Dee cut through werker flesh (with his switchblade, Randy realized) before another werker advanced upon the man, and slashed across Dee's stomach.

            By this time, Randy had come to stand near him, and as Dee looked up at him, smiled with a bloodied mouth, something inside of the Resistance leader tightened, and he was barely aware of catching the injured man in his arms. Suddenly aware of how much blood was pouring from Dee's wound onto his person, Randy examined the man's injury, setting his mouth into a thin line upon seeing how severe it was. The raven-haired man attempted to say something, coughed jerkily in his arms, and then promptly passed out with a hand half extended to Randy's face.

            Sliding onto the ground, the scarred man tore off his shirt, and pressed it against Dee's wound, finding the clothing becoming soaked through all too fast, and as he heard one of Resistance members yell for a strategic retreat, Randy tied his shirt around Dee's injury as best he could and then after motioning for Drake, who was watching nearby, to help, quickly carried Dee back out to the alleyway.

            Out of the original thirty-five of the group, only twenty had managed to escape from the werker settlement, and as Randy's eyes moved about the exhausted Resistance members, he noted that most, if not all were injured in some way, and as one of them began calling for assistance, the Resistance leader looked to the man laying on his lap. The anger he had felt upon discovering that Dee had drugged him, and managed to escape seemed to have dissipated in that strange moment where the injured man had smiled at him bloodily.

            "You damn asshole," Randy cursed briefly, as he laid an arm across Dee's shoulders, and pulled him closer, telling himself it was only to readjust how the man laid upon him. Within the next moment, two black vans appeared on the curb, and as everyone began to pile into them, the scarred man resolved to send a proper extermination crew to the werker settlement within the next few hours.

-------------------------------------

             Diana, upon hearing about the attack, quickly left Berkeley who had fallen asleep sometime ago, and offered her assistance with the wounded who had gathered at Randy's apartment, though when she had first appeared, the Resistance leader had not seemed exactly overjoyed to see her. From what information she could get from some of the injured Resistance members, was that after finding a hollow entrance in an alleyway, while investigating where it led, it had turned out to lead to a werker settlement, and the Resistance group had been vastly outnumbered.

            It explained the injuries some of the members had sustained well enough, though Diana wondered why Randy had not organized a larger reconnaissance team if he had not known where the entrance would lead. As she approached Randy with the first aid kit, as he had not been treated yet, he seemed to sigh to himself before letting her near, and as she patched the claw marks on his arms and shoulder, Randy seemed to withdraw into himself, silently allowing Diana to do her task without comment.

            Finally, after putting one last piece of medical tape onto his bare shoulder, the blonde woman could stand it no more, and spoke hurriedly with an edge of annoyance to her words. "Listen, if anything Berkeley or I said offended you, like I said on the phone message, I'm sorry, but you have to admit that what my fiancé said is right, you really shouldn-"

            A raised hand stopped the flow of her words, and irritably, Diana closed the open first aid kit on the kitchen table, and looked back to find the tall figure of Doc Campbell standing close by, the serious expression on his face unlike the usual carefree attitude he carried. Taking a seat besides Randy at the kitchen table, Diana waited to hear whatever it was the retired doctor had to say. "If I hadn't come when I did, I'm not sure Dee would have survived, but I did treat his wounds as best I could; however…"

            The seventy-year old Japanese man let out a long sigh, and then looked Randy squarely in the eyes. "At the rate his body is healing, it's almost certain he'll cross to the other side at the next full moon [3]. The reason I'm quite sure of this is because before he was slashed across the stomach, he had gotten beaten, rather severely if the fainted bruises around his midsection are any indication, and one of the bruises healed right in front of me, and human patients don't have a habit of doing that.

            "I'm not sure how you want to deal with this development but when he wakes up, Dee is going to discover this for himself, and I'd rather he'd be prepared for what is coming. I leave the choice to you, Randy. As for me, I'm going to look over the rest of the group and make sure no wound has not been missed."

            With a low bow at the doorway, Doc Campbell exited the kitchen, and Diana looked over to Randy to see how he had taken the news of Dee becoming a werker, only to find the Resistance leader looking a bit pale. "How long did you leave your wounds untreated?"

            Randy glanced over at her for a second, and then stood up shakily, speaking lower than normal. "Until Dee was treated by the Doc," He said shortly, taking a sip of his tea situated on the table before heading to the living room while Diana followed in his wake, unsure about whether or not the man would faint. "You damn stubborn man, why didn't seek treatment earlier than that?"

            Forgetting her place, Diana grabbed Randy by the waist, and directed him to the bedroom where Dee was situated on the left side of Randy's bed, and shoved him roughly towards the empty side. The Resistance leader looked sharply at Diana's actions, then at the injured man lying in his bed before glancing back at the blonde woman skeptically. "He's still human, for now. I doubt he's going to attack you in his sleep given the injuries he received as of late. Now get some rest and I'll take care of getting everyone back to where they belong."

            As Diana closed the door, she breathed a sigh of relief that the circumstances between herself, Berkeley and Randy had not placed resentment in their friendship, and as the blonde set about the task she had promised Randy, in the back of her mind, she wondered just how the Resistance was going to deal with Dee given Doc Campbell's news.

-------------------------------------

            Looking up at the ceiling, Dee realized that it wasn't unfamiliar at all, and then sat up quickly, or tried to but intense pain from his stomach made him flop back down on the bed. Trying not to heed his recent wounds, Dee found out after a moment, that that task was impossible. Sighing heavily, Dee looked to his right, and almost startled upon seeing Ryo's face so near to his own, but as he looked onto the sleep rumpled figure, he caught sight of the Resistance leader's injuries, and very gently traced the trail of bandages from the man's arms to his shoulders.

            _So he isn't nearly as invincible as he thinks he is,_ Dee thought to himself before extracting his hand, and assessing his own injuries, which upon thinking back on, the raven-haired man winced and looked to four stitched lines across his stomach. Thanking his good fortune once again, Dee looked to Ryo's sleeping form once again, and lying back down, snuggled close enough so that he could feel the man's body heat.

            "I didn't pin you for a blanket hog but hey, if you steal blankets, you should be prepared to offer body heat in return," Dee whispered softly, sticking his tongue out at the end of his words for emphasis though no one was there to see the action. Chuckling once to himself, Dee surrendered to sleep once more, unconsciously laying an arm across Ryo's midsection and cuddling close enough to lay his head on the man's uninjured shoulder.

To Be Continued… 

[1] Continuity is something I tried very hard to keep correct in this story, and I realized as I set about writing this chapter, that though Dee is the protagonist, he ends up on the receiving end of a lot of abuse (which is quite unintentional) and between his blackouts, a lot of time passes. At least that's what I keep telling myself. ;

[2] Somewhat paraphrased from 'Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade,' which happens to be a very good anime movie. Go rent/buy it, if you can, for it's quite worth at least one watch. There are no werewolves in it, but that is a matter of opinion more than anything.

[3] You have no idea how long I deliberated about deciding whether or not Dee would become a werker. I remained pretty indecisive until finally putting the finishing touches on this chapter.


	8. Change Draws Nigh

_Author's Note: For all those who are wondering about the title of this story, it was indeed named for Matchbox Twenty's "Mad Season." If you take a close look at the lyrics of the song, you'll find some correlation between the written lines and this story. Maybe if you look hard enough, you'll even discover some spoilers. Enjoy, and feedback would be greatly appreciated (please...). **bows lightly**_

Disclaimer: This is where one usually tries to cover their ass, and as such, I do not own anything pertaining to 'FAKE' and all that applies with said title. I do however own the original characters contained within. ;

Written off and on between January 29th to October 28th of 2004

------------------------------------

Mad Season Chapter Eight: Change Draws Nigh 

A flash of a smile, brightly wide spread before laughter spilled out of the mouth and arms came to enclose his figure, raised him up in the air, and only then did Randy realize the figure holding him was his father, and his mother stood close by, grinning merrily before raising a hand to hold down the straw hat she wore to shelter her face from the sun.

It was warm, too warm for the middle of June, and as a bead of sweat ran down his spine, Randy felt himself put back down on the ground before his mother's hand came to rest against his side, briefly holding him close before continuing over to the tree their belongings had been stationed at. "What are you standing around for, son? Don't you want to eat lunch?"

A voice, too soft for his liking, too gentle for his age of eleven came out, slightly whiny before the words suddenly muted out, and as a hand grasped his shoulder, there was a splatter of red to his right, and as he came out of the dream turned nightmare, Randy panted wildly before coming to master his breath again, only to jar slightly when he realized the warm he had felt in the dream was still arranged against his side, sleep tussled head raising, and dark green eyes blinking at him questioningly.

"Can't you let a guy sleep in peace? It's hard to get comfortable on a pillow that won't stop moving," Dee complained, yawning after his words, then rested his head against Randy's upper arm to apparently go back to sleep but having been surprised so, the Japanese-American shifted, coming to rest over Dee's person, hands stationed by the injured man's head closely.

Peering so intently at him, Randy felt some of his anger dissipate, mostly when he eyed the man's recent wound, but nonetheless snapped out "Who the hell asked you to cuddle so close to me? I don't recall asking you to the take the role of bedmate so literally."

Dee blinked, then scowled as if Randy was the one in the wrong. "You're the blanket hog here, don't place all the blame on me," He replied casually, raising a hand to prod lightly at the Resistance leader's wound then circled the pale man's shoulder before fingering Randy's left cheek. "You may be all rough around the edges, but you're not bad looking upon closer view; however a pretty face is not all that's needed in the game."

Feeling more dazed than insulted, Randy eyed the man below him, particularly the white scars that marred Dee's shoulder, noting how raw they had looked so little time ago, and wondered just how he was going to begin to tell the raven-haired man his humanity was slowly slipping away, but so lost in his ponderings was he that Randy did not notice his hand had begun to trace the wound personally. When Dee stiffened suddenly, Randy blinked before coming to realize he'd brushed a somewhat sensitive spot and prompted relinquished his hand, muttering a quiet apology beneath his breath as he came to a seat on Dee's left side.

A long sigh escaped the injured man, and as Randy turned to Dee questioningly, he grinned, sitting up and placing a hand on the Resistance leader's knee, before leaning forward, settling in between the space of Randy's legs easily, as if he had always fit there, before facing him dead on, stopping only when his nose was millimeters apart from the other man's. "You didn't have to stop, you know."

There was a minute of silence from Randy and then he laughed, the action soundless but the quaking of the man's shoulders told otherwise, as did the quick breaths the he took between fits of laughter, and Dee watched silently until he smirked, deciding to turn the situation to his advantage. Grabbing one of Randy's hands, he closed the short distance, and pressed his mouth to the Japanese-American's, gauging the reaction the body against his experienced, almost starting in surprise when a hand pressed against the back of his neck, pulling Dee closer.

There were times that when faced with an opportunity, logic presented itself not, and the body in your arms didn't matter, for it was human affection, and despite being aware of this knowledge, Randy found his body acting of it's own will, one of his hands coming to rest against Dee's hip while the one on the raven-haired man's neck moved down, dragging the nail of his thumb down Dee's exposed spine, gratified when the man shuddered against him.

Pulling away for a moment, the need for air having been rather pressing, Randy noted though he hadn't done much, he found his breath slightly unsteady and Dee himself lounged across the Resistance's leader lower body, a question in his eyes, patiently awaiting an answer that Randy was unsure of. Drawing his gaze away from Dee's, he eyed their surroundings, the faint light seeping in from the bedroom window's binds, the bookshelf nearby he had overcrowded once taking residence in this apartment, and Randy would have noticed more if a slight tapping on his leg hadn't disturbed him.

Sighing heavily, he looked back towards the man lying on him, noting just how close he was positioned before somewhat resignedly leaning forward, much in the matter Dee had (though much less uncertainly), and whispered a single word that immediately had an effect, as the injured man jerked back clumsily, almost falling off the bed entirely. Randy would have felt regret but in his line of work, such a thing didn't serve one well, and so, silently, he got up, grabbing what he needed from the bedroom before relocating to the bathroom.

Once inside, the Resistance leader leaned against the door he had just closed behind him, his face anything but impassive, a mess of emotions he had long since disregarded as unneeded yet crept back silently when he was unaware of it. Glancing into the mirror opposite of him, Randy stared steadily, until sounds from the bedroom caught his attention, and thoughtless of the action, he punched the mirror, pieces of the reflective surface falling vociferously onto the counter and into the sink.

Hardly mindful of the blood flowing freely from his hand, Randy turned abruptly and started the water at full force, drowning out whatever other sounds might penetrate his surroundings, and intentionally ignored the dark thoughts swirling about in his mind, for one never has a problem if they cannot admit it of themselves.

----------------------------------------------

The atmosphere was laden of tension, Dee himself quite unwilling to break it as his mind was rather busy replaying the moment in the bedroom repeatedly, so strong was his distress that he could not move beyond it. There had been a rather nice make-out session that could have evolved into something more but instead, Randy had seen fit to confirm just how unpleasant his personality was.

Dee had been completely relaxed, a first in the last few days when the Japanese-American had leaned forward, his expression at first blank then it had shifted, into one that disturbed Dee, as it seemed all the extreme hatred Randy had been harboring inside showed itself for what it was, and in that one word he had said, Dee felt like whatever hope he had unknowingly gathered for himself, committed suicide.

_"Werker."_

Closing his eyes, the raven-haired man leaned forward; ignoring the mug of coffee placed to his left, as he didn't think his stomach would appreciate any type of liquid, or food for that matter. Dee had many questions, the first of which was what kind of future did he have now that it was indeed confirmed that lycanthropy had taken root in his system, somehow he didn't picture Randy (or any of the Resistance members really) calmly showing him the door.

Just as Dee was about to voice his concerns about the matter, the man sitting across from him spoke abruptly, tone not the usual harshness that had become the norm. "I realize I could have broken the news a bit more gently, for that, I apologize, but if it were me in your place, I would want to know as soon as possible instead of finding it out inadvertently later on."

"You're not me," Dee responded curtly, Randy's avoidance of the question that seemed to hang in the air, deepening his already despondent temperament, and as a result, he found his mouth speaking said question before his mind could become conscious of it. "Are my days numbered?"

There was no answer, only silence, but that was an answer in itself, and beyond irritated and more than a little devastated, Dee stood, intent on finding his ever-reliable cigarettes (at least they would provide more consolation than the Resistance leader), and had turned to do so when it seemed something exploded right behind his eyes, blinding him for more than a few moments, and confusedly, Dee tried to make sense of what he was seeing instead of feeling.

He was most certainly not in Randy's kitchen, for the five faces looking expectantly at him across a kitchen table were not familiar in the least, and as a voice spoke, Dee found himself very much tempted to reach out and touch an object resting before him, since it didn't feel like a hallucination, it felt like he had come to rest in another's body for a few sparse moments.

Just when Dee had begun to study the faces around him, the scenery abruptly changed into a lush forest, but it was obvious the person running through the forest had little time to admire where he was located, as he was running almost fanatically, the source of his anxiety following closely behind, and within an instant, Dee found himself in the person's place, though it was more like he was an observer in the body than anything else, since though the beast had finally caught up to him (them?), Dee was unable to do anything but watch as the werker's arm rose upwards, and slashed in a blinding movement.

Though he was not physically injured himself, Dee couldn't help but flinch, as he had been attacked in much the same way just the other night, and whilst blood spilled onto the forest floor, he wondered in an oddly detached way if some of the information Ilona had told him was correct, for Dee had an inkling these images unfolding before him were not just because lycanthropy had taken root in his system.

There was only a second to lock onto the word memories before pain took grip of his body, making his throat constrict tightly, his breath run short, and as Dee struggled to draw in a breath, the pain departed as if it had never been; a few more deep breaths and the raven-haired man realized he was resting against someone, on their lap to be exact, and as he tilted his head upwards, Dee had just a moment to catch the expression on Randy's face, it wasn't the harsh rage he expected, instead it bordered on empathic, with a thread of regret then the mask slammed back into place, as did the tile underneath him as Randy abruptly stood.

Staring blankly at nothing in particular, Dee tried to make sense of the situation but as much activity as his mind had been through as of late, he soon decided smoking was definitely more important, as soon as he could get up off the kitchen floor that was. When Randy returned with a dishtowel, the raven-haired man followed his movements silently, only noticing the blood running down his upper right arm when the Resistance leader pressed the towel against his wounds, which appeared to be deep ragged nail marks, though Dee hadn't recalled doing any such thing.

"What happened? I remember getting up from the table, but after that, it's difficult to say, do yo-"_My mind to mouth filter isn't in order_, Dee thought, mentally slapping himself for breaking the strained silence first, Randy seemed to be anticipating such a thing for he interrupted almost too quickly, as if the words had been on his tongue the whole time.

"It's one of the first symptoms of lycanthropy, having flashbacks to the memories of the werker who bit you, your episode was a bit more violent than usual, you even managed to scratch me while I was attempting to restrain you from causing yourself even greater harm. I've seen some werker victims become so immersed in recalling these memories; they're never quite able to grasp reality again, you're rather lucky," Randy bit out while bandaging the wounds on Dee's arm, perhaps applying more force than necessary.

Victims...Dee wasn't sure he liked way Randy had said the word, but wasn't sure if it was worth the risk to ask the scarred man to elaborate on just how many of these episodes he was supposed to have, it hadn't been entirely unpleasant but experiencing memories from someone who had died shortly after the raven-haired man had met him, was a bit too eerie for his tastes.

The shrill ringing of the telephone startled both of the men though neither would admit it out loud, and as Randy rose to answer, he looked back towards Dee, helping the man up after a moment's thought then continued on his way across the room. Notching the Japanese-American with a look, Dee shook his head then crossed over to the living room a bit shakily, intent on reaching the couch and it's nice comfortable pillows without becoming reacquainted with the floor.

"What the hell do you mean, there's nothing there?! A crew and I were just there, half of which was slaughtered by the werkers that were living there, and yet y-"A sudden silence from Randy, during which something unintelligent able was uttered then the sharp slam of the phone echoed around the apartment before the scarred man stormed out of the kitchen and grabbed Dee's arm, jerking him off the couch without comment.

"I don't care about the fact you're suffering from episodes, because I can't leave you here alone without getting ideas about escaping again, so put on your damn jacket and let's go, I have far too many imbeciles working for me."

---------------------------------------------

Dee sat in a far corner, arms pressed firmly around his knees, and eyes scrunched together in vain hope of warding off the migraine that was slowly making itself known, not to mention the glare some Resistance member named Bradford was sending his way. It hadn't been his choice to come here; he'd already known what one of the former safe houses for the werker population looked like, actually been held captive in it for a few days.

He shuddered as he remembered the cold ruthlessness Ilona had shown to one of her kind for disobeying her orders, and as Dee looked up to eye Randy's pacing form, half of him was grateful for the fact the man had come and taken him back, much longer among the werkers and there was no telling what he would have discovered on the hunt Ilona had mentioned so casually in passing.

A kick to his leg drew him from his thoughts, and as Dee glanced back to the ebony face of Bradford, already he could tell Randy had taught him well, for contempt lurked beneath those nearly black eyes, glancing away quickly, he had but a moment to think before another episode descended upon him, more intense than before because William was experiencing his first transformation, and unknowingly, taking Dee along as well.

The first thing he was aware of was the smell, a deep horrendous thing that affected him far more than it should have, and it took only another whiff to realize the place they'd scrambled into out of panic so swiftly was the sewer; pressed up against a slimy wall, body racked over with pain that seemed to come from their very being, as if something had rose from the depths within in and demanded entry outside, the only problem was, the outlet was their own body.

Trying to regain some control over their ever-unsteady breath, when the spine of their body rose and threatened to break free of the skin, there was a moment where consciousness was lost and then regained when a prickly sensation spread along the line of their teeth, further investigation found the structure of his body had already shifted, the hand that was raised to feel their mouth carefully felt incisors grow rapidly, for nails had already been traded for claws.

When their vision went black, a scream built up in the back of their throat, but instead of the scream, came a single strangled howl.

"Shit, why the hell did you bring him here if you knew he was having episodes? That's like bringing a fucking kid to a knife show, you know blood is going to be spilt," Bradford grunted out angrily, moving from his seat on Dee's back once it was evident the body beneath him had finally calmed.

The bitter coppery smell of blood was the first thing that greeted Dee when he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to try and figure out just what kind of situation he had gotten himself into now, though for once it wasn't his fault (or so he thought), the one consolation was that the blood hadn't originated from him, instead Bradford seemed to have placed himself in the line of fire (as it was). The left leg of his slacks had been sliced to near ribbons, and though it was hard to tell, thick splotches of blood ran down the leg belonging to the article of clothing as well.

Bradford wasn't happy, that in itself, was more than apparent but when Randy stepped between Dee and the Resistance member, Dee could immediately tell violence was pending, it was just a manner of time before the volcano called Bradford blew, and the damage would definitely not be minor.

The other member, Sarah, a small woman whose bark was worse than her bite, seemed to sense this as well, and gently took her fellow member aside and into one of the many rooms surrounding them, nodding silently to Randy as she passed him, though the thoughtful look that passed on her face went unnoticed to those in the room save Dee.

"You have some very interesting members in your organization," the raven-haired man said off-handedly, rising from the floor to resume his former position in the far corner, though his body protested the action valiantly. These episodes seemed to confound the mind but screwed up your physical body the most because it was trying to insert itself into situations that had already passed, and Dee had fast reached his limit of pain, both physical and mental long ago.

"We were afraid you were going to shift, your body temperature rose drastically, and you tore the hell out of Bradford's leg with only your hands, I'm beginning to think the changes that go along with lycanthropy are progressing much faster in your system than normal," the Japanese-American said, ignoring the man's nearly panic-stricken look at these words, but notching a steady stare Dee's way when Randy glanced back towards him.

The words he had been about to say however died when Randy took in the expression on Dee's face, there was vulnerability there, etched deep into the lines of the man's face, and as cruel as he could be, the scarred man didn't want to widen the chasm of that helplessness, for no reason he could cite, Randy leaned forward and kissed Dee, as if apologizing for the harsh words he had spoken here and earlier, when they had been in bed during the morning.

His face gone blank with surprise, Dee could only stare for a few moments before his hand automatically begun seeking the cigarettes he always had present on his person, and when a white cylinder had been drawn and lit, the raven-haired man eyed Randy skeptically, who only stared at him (in near boredom) when their eyes met. That had been unanticipated, and certainly turned his mind from Randy's statement about the lycanthropy working through his body faster than usual, now Dee focused on trying to understand why the man had kissed him, of all things, so unexpectedly.

It wasn't like they hadn't done it before but what had happened in the bedroom hadn't seemed personal, it had been about fulfilling bodily desires more than anything else but Randy hadn't been thinking quietly in his mind when his lips met Dee's, he had been perfectly aware of what he was doing, the action had to have been fueled by some emotion, whether or not it was pity or worse, was the matter that needed more deliberation.

---------------------------------------

The safe house located behind the false alley wall, where the werkers had lived in for however long had indeed been vacated, not one scrap that would signify something had spent time here could be found, and Randy, as a result was in a rather angry mood as he wandered out of the last room in the row nearest to where Dee was resting quietly, almost too quietly but at least the man had wiped that vulnerable look from his face, that more than anything, even the werkers' apparent evacuation, disturbed Randy the most.

As he paced back and forth, awaiting Sarah and Bradford to return from their own searches, Randy paused in his footsteps when his heel clanged against something that thudded against the dirt floor when he moved his foot, eyes narrowing; the Resistance leader looked down to note a dark brown metal handle, almost invisible against the material it was resting on. "Camouflage, huh?"

"What is it?" Dee inquired from across the room, squinting to see just what it was that had caught the Japanese-American's attention, and when Randy leaned over and pulled, revealing a streak of light, Dee immediately padded over and assisted the scarred man in opening up the rest of the trap door, gaping opening when a tunnel of almost six feet rested below them, winding gods know where, dark all but for one lantern which amazingly enough, still burned steadily.

It took only a few calls to get the pair of Resistance members over to investigate the tunnel, and after some bickering and one near fight, it was decided a team would be later assembled to explore the tunnel to it's fullest, equipped properly in case any incidents occurred, though they all were aware only one kind of incident would happen in a tunnel created and used to transport werkers.

------------------------------------------

The car ride back to the apartment was spent in silence, Dee still mulling over Randy's previous actions, who in turn seemed to be ignoring the raven-haired man's existence, only paying him mind when he had to, usually when another episode struck Dee, the last had been particularly embarrassing, flashing back to a time before William had been infected lycanthropy, and focused primarily on a physical interaction with the man's wife.

So lost in his thoughts, it was only when the scenery outside the car window stopped speeding by that Dee realized they must have arrived back at the apartment already, glancing towards Randy warily, he was surprised to find the scarred man stretched out as much as he could manage inside the car, leaning comfortably against his seat with a somewhat resigned (and tired) look on his face, somehow it didn't fit the usual image he presented to the outside world.

Never one to think things over before speaking them, Dee plainly asked what had been irking him for the last few hours. As civil as Randy had been the last few days, he figured asking the man directly would yield better results than actually trying to answer the question himself, his subconscious had never served him well in that regard in times past. "Why did you kiss me?"

Randy showed no reaction other than blinking a few times, then as if he'd stumbled upon the perfect answer, he turned towards Dee, the expression in his face darkening a bit. "Why, indeed?"

Narrowing his brow, Dee let his irritation show before concluding that Randy was obviously enjoying purposely confusing him in whatever way possible, letting out a sigh as he came to this conclusion, when a hand prodded him gently on the shoulder, he focused on the Japanese-American sitting across from him once again. "Do you dislike me?"

"In some ways, yes, in others, not so much." He had answered so quickly, without missing a beat that Dee had to stare at him for a moment before continuing the rather interesting conversation, his next question though had less to do with him personally and on the topic of werkers.

"Why did you form the Resistance?"

"...Bikky. When he disappeared that night after nearly killing me, I was so infuriated, I wanted to kill him but as time went by, I merely wanted to locate him again so I could understand his reasons for doing what he did, but I've yet to find even one trace of him in all these years. The werkers only get more violent, the exterminations messier and the reasons for continuing this organization cloudier."

Just when Dee thought he had come to understand Randy, more shit hit the fan, and he was forced to revaluate the information he had logged away so thoroughly, adding more content than he had originally thought was necessary. His throat suddenly tight, Dee had to swallow a few times before he could comment on what had been revealed so casually. "If you saw Bikky again, what would you do?"

If he had thought Randy had been affable with him a moment ago, the abrupt change in mood seemed almost like a deep chasm had developed between the pair of men, and in that chasm laid ice sickles that would draw blood if one treaded too near.

Dee had an inkling that that sudden space between them was a bit like rejection, for it seemed there was more behind his earlier revelation than mentioned, and oddly saddened by this fact, it was somewhat of a shock to hear Randy's voice ring out so suddenly after nearly five minutes had past.

His voice seemed the most affected though, instead of the usual bland cold voice the scarred man spoke in, an emotion sat just behind the words, notable but unable to fully effect his answer. "I don't know."

As Randy had turned his face away, Dee in turn looked to the reflection of the man's window, eyes widening a bit when he saw loss in that expression, with confusion lingering just near the edges, he appeared, for the most part, simply...lost. Unwilling or unable to find the strength needed to erase that pain displayed so evidently, Dee took the only action left to him, he fled.

----------------------------------------------

J.J. had spent the better part of the night with his ear glued to the receiver of telephone, calling various Resistance members from a list he had been given hurriedly by Drake, who had pleaded he had an appointment he couldn't cancel out on, and so being too gracious for his own good, J.J. had taken up the task of organizing a team to explore the tunnel that had been discovered underneath the werker safe house they had raided but a few days ago.

He'd only gotten almost an half hour of sleep but thought visiting Randy to confirm the task had been completed was a rather good idea, though by the troubled look on Dee's face as he appeared a bit down the hallway, J.J. was beginning to think that perhaps a phone call would have yielded better results. Regardless, he put a hand on the raven-haired man's shoulder in a sign of comfort, not expecting Dee to crumple to the floor without warning.

It was obvious with just a glance at the jerking body beside him that Dee was having an episode, though why he would have been allowed outside whilst inflicted with such things, raised more questions than answers and shaking his head, J.J. set about restraining him as well as he could, when Randy appeared on the scene, the Resistance member motioned irritably towards the locked apartment door.

This memory was undeniably different than the previous ones, as the detail in it was almost too convincing, if Dee hadn't been so sure William was deceased, he would have said he was spying on an event in the man's life. While not in his other form, William Cunningham was a rather under imposing fellow, whose full height only measured up to that of five feet, four inches, he also was about ten years shy of middle age, though his hair had deemed itself already there and was balding in some places.

His occupation, aptly enough, happened to be a social worker and it was through this connection that he had been able to hire the private detective sitting across from him in the diner booth. Dee had always been particularly talented in reading people, and figuring out the strange man's occupation was not a difficult thing; he sat with his arms fully outstretched along the booth seat edge, a lit cigarette clutched between two fingers of his left hand, that he occasionally raised to his mouth.

He also wore a trench coat in the middle of summer, despite how hot it must been, it was through these signs, especially the last, that Dee came to the conclusion he was a private detective, and had nothing to do with the fact the man himself mentioned much the same upon taking a seat at the diner booth. Their conversation ran the usual hello, how are you before taking an entirely different course, one Dee actually was very interesting in overhearing.

"What did you find on Randall McLane, Smith?" Smith smiled, drawing a thick file from somewhere inside his trench coat before sliding it across the length of the table, reaching across and opening the file up to a particular page, or photo that was. Randy was a truly frightening sight, as the glossy photo displayed him standing over a body, nearly covered in blood but the most notable feature was the left side of Randy's face, instead of the ashen scars Dee had become so used to seeing, the wounds were bright red, still early in the process of healing.

"You really asked a lot of me, finding information on this guy made me use most, if not all of my resources, anyway, Randy started out rather normal, parents, white picket fence, all that bit then something unusual happened, his parents got into a car crash, though while the police were investigating the accident, they found someone had tampered with the brake line.

"The kid was rather young though, so no one thought to tell him, and Randy went off to live with his aunt Elena until he graduated high school, he entered into a pricey university, one that would surprise you if I said the name and three and a half years later graduated with degree in English, apparently intending to teach at a school, though through some incident I can't find record of, he ended up adopting a kid named Bikky Goldman.

"Because of this, Randy skipped over his plan and began teaching from his apartment, but this is where it gets weird. One day, Bikky disappears, and Randy ends up in the hospital recovering from wounds that he acquired from some animal if the doctor's reports are correct. After this incident, he quit his job and moved to a new apartment, one I've yet to find, I'm assuming it must be a rather ritzy place.

"As for what the guy's doing now, I don't have a clue, it's like he dropped off the face of the planet like the kid he adopted; it's fishy if you ask me," Smith finished off eloquently, taking several puffs from his cigarette as if to make up for what he had missed whilst speaking. William merely nodded and continued looking through the file Smith had put together during his investigation, pushing the photo he had been shown first towards the private detective.

"How did you come by this then?" Dee had been curious as well and would have patted William on the back if he hadn't been part of the memory (and dead), Smith narrowed his brow and after taking another puff of his cigarette, answered the question, his tone a bit odd, Dee suspected perhaps he wasn't telling the whole story.

"I took it off a corrupt cop, apparently the police had been investigating the incident where Randy had gotten injured but never past a certain point, it seems like someone powerful took to protecting him. The cop got sent the photo in the mail but never received any other clues about the case afterwards, whoever sent it must have gotten snuffed out for butting his head in affairs that weren't his own."

Again, William nodded and after reclaiming the photo, put the file into the briefcase beside him, before he set about paying the detective, who had done a rather fine job overall; at this point, the memory began to fade gradually, and it was with a sharp gasp that Dee bolted forward off the couch he had been put upon and ever so gracefully fell face first onto the floor.

He could taste blood when he raised his head but the laughter of J.J. never died off even as Dee sat up and held up his arm, using the sleeve of his shirt to sop up the blood dripping steadily from his nose, deciding to hush up the Resistance member once and for all, Dee used his other arm to throw a pillow at the man sitting across from him on the opposite wall.

J.J. blinked stupidly for a few moments then smirked before throwing the pillow back, hitting the raven-haired man squarely on the right knee, despite his throbbing and bleeding nose, Dee indulged in the pillow fight and fought all he was worth, earning nothing but defeat in the end, but he had smiled during the scrap more times than in the last few days.

Randy had walked in during their little battle, saying nothing but clearly disapproved of the activity, as evident in the rough way he collected the misused pillows from across the room and hurled them back where they had come, though one he inspected closely and took into the bathroom after a moment, Dee and J.J. exchanged a guilty smile at this then went into the kitchen so the nose that had gone untreated could get the attention it deserved.

"I don't think you broke it...if you could have seen how you fell, I swear you would have been laughing as well," J.J. said, his voice nearly breaking halfway through because of half-stifled laughter. Nudging the Resistance member lightly, Dee merely let the man hold an ice cube to the bridge of his nose, which sorely protested the action but after a few moments, thought better of it.

"You don't think Ryo's going to kill me for bleeding on one of his pillows, is he?" J.J. thought the question over for a moment as he twirled one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, his knees coming with a soft thud as they hit the edge then shook his head, noting a bit too much relief in Dee's expression after he did so.

J.J. had initially been against leaving the man in Randy's care, given how malicious his leader seemed to be towards Dee, but one got used to such treatment after a while and hardly was aware of it (at least that was the case for J.J.) but perhaps the raven-haired man didn't have such a thick hide, and had been suffering emotionally for the length of time he had been stationed here. Apprehensive now, he reflected back on the troubled expression of Dee's before he had fallen into the episode and pondered on whether or not to ask Randy if he could take the man into his care for at least a few days.

Before J.J. could verify his theory though, Randy wandered into the kitchen and begun making a pot of coffee (he hadn't even been aware the Japanese- American owned one) without comment, though he turned and eyed Dee hesitantly, as if he was unsure of how to act around him, J.J. caught on to what was occurring easily, having been in a situation like it before.

It wasn't emotional or physical abuse, just metaphysical crossed wires, hiding a smirk as he thought this, J.J. reported that Drake had passed on his assignment, and it had been accomplished without any problems. Randy notched him with a questioning look, one that usually signified he wanted considerable reason for why Drake had not been able to finish his own assignment.

Though it wasn't his business to tell, J.J. figured Randy would discover the knowledge himself sooner or later (despite that, he still apologized to Drake in his head). "He and his wife have been having a few marital problems for a few years, it was only now that all the papers for the divorce at last came through, and the appointment he had to attend was so they could finalize everything."

That clearly hadn't been the answer Randy had expected though after a moment, he nodded and went back to the task of acquiring a cup of coffee, and after he had done so, almost violently, he took a seat beside Dee, his body language screaming uncomfortable but simple pride prevented him from leaving the room, and all because he couldn't come to terms with what he was feeling; color him odd but to someone who embraced emotion for all it was, that seemed the saddest thing in the world to J.J.

----------------------------------------

He pressed closer to the body he was being carried upon, noting with an odd detachment, that for having such a cold personality, Randy's body had yet to take that into account and was quite warm, Dee doubted many people were aware of this fact, as the Resistance leader kept even the members of his own organization at a certain distance. Closing his eyes, he reflected on what he had learned in the episode that had hit him quite unexpectedly; easily, he slipped back into the small diner, his memory of it only lessened but a bit.

It was their second meeting, quite obvious by the way Smith had dropped the casual front he had adopted last time and leaned intently across the table, gaze firmly fixed on William's figure, as if trying to seek out an answer to something his mind had inquired about internally. Finally, he closed his eyes and as Smith opened them, whatever he had been intent on learning seemed to have been dismissed for now, and without further ado, he slipped his hand into his trench coat pocket and slid a glossy photograph across the table.

A Polaroid in fact, but that was a mote point, and Dee couldn't recognize the middle-aged man in the picture, who had turned halfway, as if he knew someone was watching him through a viewfinder, but obviously William did, as his slight gasp indicated, and he looked towards Smith incredulously. The private detective merely nodded, but his expression indicated he was not having fun continuing the task he had taken on, and his next words only confirmed this.

"I don't know what the fuck you've gotten me into but I'm not pleased with sneaking around in dark alleyways, following very powerful people and getting myself into shit that's beyond my spectrum. Your guy, Randy, is definitely not average, he met with more than just the general in the photo, and there was certainly some negotiating going on between them, your guy having more leverage than you would think.

"Really, the only information I was able to overhear was that Randy is getting funded, in more than just money, he specifically asked for some weaponry, and the people he met with had no reservations about giving him what he requested," Smith said hurriedly, the puzzlement showing plainly on his face as he raised the cigarette he had lit but a moment ago to his lips, and inhaled deeply.

William said nothing, but his enclosed hands perhaps said he had already held knowledge of what the detective had reported, but nonetheless, he pocketed the Polaroid, pausing when Smith's gaze wandered back over to him, his attention drawn away from the white cylinder between the fingers of his right hand. There was a feeling of nervousness, William was intensely uncomfortable but underneath that, there lurked something dangerous, if the private detective saw fit to investigate why the social worker wanted Randy spied upon, blood would be spilt without regret in but a second.

Perhaps Smith sensed this, as he looked away so quickly, it had to have hurt him for a moment, finishing off his cigarette, and mashing it accordingly into a nearby ashtray, he inquired about his payment quietly. William had just retrieved an envelope from his briefcase, when Smith's hand shot out suddenly across the table; it's intention unclear until William gripped the detective's hand tightly but halfway across the table, the calm exterior shed and the werker's face meshed together in almost fervent fury.

Something passed over Smith's face, and it was then Dee knew the man had held back more information than he should have, he already had some idea of what Randy needed the funding and weaponry for, and that William had been connected somewhat, his inhuman reflexes and painful hold on Smith's hand had been the only evidence the private detective needed to put most of the pieces together.

"-carry you any longer. Dee?" He snapped back from the memory to find Randy glaring at him over his shoulder, inches away, obviously not happy it had taken him so long to get Dee's notice. The raven-haired man grinned nervously; loosening his hold on the scarred man's back, as he thought Randy had mentioned something about being unable to carry him anymore.

"I still don't understand why you even brought him if he was still having episodes," came a voice from somewhere behind them, it's speaker only revealing himself until the light of the lantern the member next to Randy carried, hit his face. Bradford, still injured but for all intents and purposes, an active member in this survey team of the Resistance's, and though it was clear the man had difficulty walking correctly, he had insisted upon coming anyway.

"I've already explained my reasons for bringing him along, and I don't care to repeat them, if his presence irritates you that much, you were better off standing guard with Koji at the tunnel entrance," Randy bit out, his hold on Dee's legs tightening unconsciously, perhaps he wasn't feeling particularly confident in Bradford's abilities anymore than Dee was.

A flash of emotion, too fast for Dee to catch, passed over the injured Resistance member's face and then Bradford muttered quietly to himself as he fell back and melted into the members walking but a few feet behind them. Despite mentioning his discomfort, Randy had yet to actually ask Dee to remove himself, which the raven-haired man wondered about but as long as he didn't have to force his very uncooperative body to walk, he wasn't going to protest.

When they barely just begun to walk the length of the tunnel, the episode had hit and Dee had been officially claimed as baggage though the Japanese-American had said nothing, offered his back and had since then, not a word had been said about what had occurred, Dee couldn't discern whether or not the man pitied him or just didn't think anger would have suited the situation.

Whatever the reason, they had been walking for little over two hours, the over two dozen or so Resistance members walking among them chiming in with all clears (meaning no openings had been found) ever so often, the tunnel itself wasn't so bad, it was evident it had been dug hurriedly, as only thick planks of wood held up the tunnel edges every few feet but beyond the deep pungent smell of the earth, there was nothing unpleasant about the excursion so far.

Muttered curses just to the right of him made Dee look back, noting that a strangely tall woman had taken to covering her eyes and pushed back up at the tunnel ceiling gently, revealing a small slit of light that the Resistance members around her immediately took note of, and stopped accordingly to lend her assistance if she had need of it.

Dee looked towards Randy's neck again, and figuring if he had not frustrated the scarred man yet, he may as well take advantage of his strange mood, positioning his mouth just so, Dee nipped a small section of Randy's skin, not expecting himself to be promptly dropped to the tunnel floor so swiftly. He waited for the world to resume stability, as his vision had gone hazy for a moment, but also for the Japanese-American's further reaction.

It never came; curious now, Dee experimentally sat up, cursing but finding his body allowed him that at least, Randy no longer stood where he had been, his attention firmly focused on seeking out the opening the female member had found, when no furred hand or werker activity commenced, he gave the signal to go investigate just where the opening led.

One of the Resistance members disappeared into the light, some words were said then a head popped back down, and shook itself, mentioning that this safe house was just as abandoned as the one they had entered to seek entry into the tunnel. Some sighs rang through the group but they continued on, and swallowing the sudden knot in his throat, Dee watched as Randy approached, expecting him to walk on completely and come back and collect him when the excursion became too tedious.

He said nothing as he knelt down once again, and just when Dee thought the incident would be ignored just like everything else that occurred between them, Randy turned his head slightly and whispered "no more biting" before once again focusing on the tunnel length before them, while Dee smirked against the man's back amusedly.

--------------------------------

They discovered nine more openings, but only one showed signs of werker activity for as soon as the opening as been prodded, something heavy thudded against it, making the small door slam violently, one glance from Randy and the members of his organization took action, one collecting all of the lanterns and placing them on the sides of the tunnel, another drew his weapon eagerly before someone kicked the door surprisingly hard with a mere kick of their leg, the wood door almost coming off the hinges completely.

There was a moment of complete silence, everyone holding their breaths together unknowingly, their gaze all drawn to the same location, anticipating what the empty space just beyond them held then the shit hit the fan and something half skin, half fur leapt down, striking down the Resistance member whose kick had been so powerful. As blood flew, more shapes crept down, and Dee, justifiably, was dumped onto the floor as Randy stretched his somewhat sore body and drew out a shiny new switchblade from his pocket.

Dee had but a moment to study the expression on the man's face, he certainly wasn't dreading the werkers' approach, as his mouth had spread to an unnaturally wide smile, one that was neither happy nor any other emotion the raven-haired man could put his finger on, then one of the werkers ran near, and he watched as Randy made short work of the beast's throat, catching a claw mark down the shoulder but relatively unscathed in all.

Stumbling to his feet, Dee watched as the Resistance fought the enemy they had made their own, and their skill in this area varied, some of the members were taken down as easily as a child but others had experience and they used this to their advantage, striking where they knew the flesh would easily break, and conserving their strength if the confrontation went on longer than necessary.

The woman who had kicked the door had managed to survive, minus an arm, but was very thoroughly exterminating whatever werkers were idiotic enough to come close enough, only using her body as a weapon. Almost entranced, Dee could merely observe her skill, as she kicked one of the creature's faces in with the heel of her foot, then turned around and knocked a werker's shoulder with her elbow, the blunt strength alone causing the bone that had been hit upon to break with a very audible sharp crack.

She was indeed a force to be reckoned with, though after a few more minutes, the sheer number of werkers tipped the scales and the woman ceased to breathe after incisors plunged into the meaty flesh of her neck. They had indeed hit a safe house and though they had enough members with them, Dee wondered how long they would be able to hold out before losing ground and going back the way they had come.

A voice shouted a command, and though Dee couldn't hear it, his body reacted nonetheless and as he hit the dirt, there was a painful bellow then fire exploded out of the small open door above them, scorching the air just above Dee's body then the heat receded and smoke filtered down and coughing, the raven-haired man stood back up, noting that not all had heeded the voice's call, and were burning, Resistance and werker alike.

This little exclusion was now a certified fucking disaster, and as his eyes watered from the smoke filled atmosphere, Dee had just a moment to catch familiar amber eyes and before his mind could catch up to speed with his body, he moved towards the square door, and climbed through, eyeing the damage the grenade had done but not seeing more than he had to, the day had been stressful enough as it was, Dee followed the figure he had seen until it stopped abruptly.

"So you're with Ryo now, are you? Have you taken his side in this conflict as well, Dee Laytner?" Bikky inquired as he glanced back, eyes narrowed angrily, and understandably so, the place he had gone to for sanctuary had turned into a war zone, and it seemed the teenager had no other choice but to go elsewhere, a quick look around told Dee that many of the werkers were doing much the same, though a good number had stayed behind to fight.

His throat suddenly tight, Dee would have answered but as a blade flew inches by his head, landing with a thunk into Bikky's left leg, around a somewhat tender area that reduced the teenager to his knees (struck a tendon?), Dee swallowed sharply then turned where he knew Randy would be standing, as the blade sticking out of the amber-eyed boy's leg was the scarred man's own switchblade.

He forgot how to breathe for a second, the pain, rage, shock, exhaustion, all the emotions on Randy's face was so cavernous, so twisted together that it was hard to see where one ended and one began, so raw was that expression that Dee had to look elsewhere, it was almost the same as the time in the car, he couldn't take away any of Randy's pain, and to look upon it was almost like peeping at a private moment, so Dee took the only vice he had left, he pretended he had never seen it, and would not mention it unless the other man did first.

While he had been frozen in place, Randy had taken action of his own, he had passed Dee and as he kneeled down in front of Bikky, he pulled out the switchblade he had thrown out so rashly, and just as the raven-haired man caught a glimpse of the beginning of tears, threw his arms around the teenager, squeezing so tightly, Dee was surprised he didn't break Bikky's ribcage.

Hesitantly, arms came to encircle Randy's waist, and there in the middle of a recently turned war zone, amidst the sledded blood, violence, death, cries, and bellows of beasts, a vast rift had been mended or at least on the way to be crossed, and if there was any upside to the exclusion they had undertaken, then this was it. Dee had all but the space of a few minutes to appreciate the sight then Bikky touched Randy gently on the arm and just as he randomly as he had appeared, he took to the air, and as if imitating a master magician, vanished.

To Be Continued... 


	9. Asymmetrical Spectacle

_Author's Note: I have no excuse, so I won't give one; I will however recommend you review the chapters before this just for reference's sake, since it has been way too long since a new chapter was added to this (also because I'm throwing a few curveballs here :p).Warning, slight lime within...  
_

Written off and on from December 7th of 2004 to April 10th of 2006

Disclaimer: I, in no way, own Matoh Sanami's characters of 'FAKE' and if I did, they'd be in no way be what they are today, I'm merely borrowing them and hoping to spin a tale worthy of the Matoh talent, however, I do own whatever original characters appear below, whatever that means…

--------------------------------------------

"_**Mad Season"**_

_Chapter Nine: Asymmetrical Spectacle_

There was a long expectant moment, in which Dee felt that whatever emotional pain Randy had shown him before paled before this, he felt that if he could but move his body, he'd be able to touch what seemed so visible, and no doubt be swallowed up whole within less than a second, then the man seated before him stirred. Startled, Dee turned slightly to find that Randy was heading in his direction, his face turn downwards so the raven-haired man could not place his mood to discover Randy's intention in such an action.

Dee watched him approach in much the matter you'd witness any major disaster, you know the events taking place before you are beyond horrible but you are unable to look away for fear of missing it altogether. If anything, the worst the Resistance leader would do would kill him here and now, and considering the circumstances, that most likely would be better than the alternative, struggling to stay alive in surroundings that were overflowing with death.

When arms enclosed his waist, and warmth situated itself firmly onto his chest, Dee looked down, and stared rather expectantly, waiting for some explanation from the person embracing him but when none came, he thought about how this situation could be classified as something other than good and after shrugging mentally, he sat down, instantly becoming aware of what a mistake it had been when his gaze met Randy's.

There was nothing in those dark gray eyes that could have placed the man as Randall McLane, blank as dull spoons; nothing remained of the personality, the harshness, the intolerant aptitude that gulled Dee to no end, and to be drawn against such a thing, the knowledge that Bikky may had broken the one person who cared for him more than anyone…it was only when the first teardrop slipped down his cheek that Dee came back to himself in a rush, barely in time to catch glance of the furred shape fast approaching their location.

It was as if someone reached inside and switched his body on autopilot, with speed he never dreamt he'd possess, he pulled Randy from himself and tucked him behind him, against the back of his legs, safe for the moment, but a better solution had to found if he was to engage the werker stalking in front of him in combat. That he should seek out some kind of weapon never crossed his mind, after all, if used correctly, the human body could be lethal itself, and for one on the verge of alteration, applying the force needed to defend himself was nothing more than mere child's play.

The werker clearly hadn't been expecting the two men situated before it to be merely more than prey, and the fact one of their scents had shifted to match one of it's own kind added to it's confusion, put off by this, the werker shook itself then continued as it had originally, intent on acquiring a meal no matter how much effort it took.

Just as the werker leapt forward, Dee took to the ground, almost leaning entirely on Randy's back but his attention; justifiably so was more focused on the form clearing the air above him, smirking to himself, Dee shoved his arm upwards, leaving air and meeting flesh within a moment, breaking through bone and muscle like one would punch through paper, then felt the first hot drops of blood drip onto his face and neck just as his fingers broke through to the other side of the werker's body.

As he pulled his arm back, blood and carnage escaped through the large hole he had made, covering yet more of his person but he was beyond caring at the moment, that is, until Dee had shoved aside the werker's corpse and had just begun to raise his bloody hand to his mouth, when his mind and reason saw fit to return. Horrified, Dee scrambled from the scene he'd unwittingly made before coming to stare at his filthy hands with a mix of muddled longing and extreme disgust, cursing profusely, he forcibly threw his hands down and had just begun to stand when a shiver ran down his back.

Turning ever so slowly, Dee looked back to find that the only one who hadn't willingly engaged in a fight had sat up, and glared accordingly at whom had gotten his clothes nearly soaked with blood and other unsaid things, whatever Bikky had broken, it seemed to have mended itself for the look directed towards him was pure Ryo through and through, inwardly Dee gave a relieved sigh, as he didn't think Randy himself was aware of the fact he'd lost use of his synapses for however long.

As Randy took grip of his switchblade once again, for there were still half a dozen werkers about the area intent on dealing some damage to the Resistance, Dee claimed a nearby corner for himself, turning his gaze back to his bloodied hands unconsciously, eyes widening when he glimpsed one of the nails of his left hand shortening, and after a moment, followed the trail of change, realizing just how he had been able to gouge through the body of the werker who had attacked himself and Randy.

"Shit," He muttered, crossing his arms in order to keep his ever-changing hands from sight, when a shadow abruptly blocked the light around him, Dee glanced upwards; hardly surprised to find Bradford leaning heavily against the wall Dee had taken shelter, though the wounds the Resistance member had sustained were of some significance, as Dee had not had much confidence in how well Bradford could have aided the Resistance as he was before they had stumbled over the current safe house.

Bradford looked down upon Dee closely, closing his eyes for a moment as he struggled to ignore the pain of the deep scratches across his chest and throat, before beginning to reach for the small gun tucked underneath his shirt, settled against the base of his spine. All too aware Bradford might have witnessed his body's betrayal, Dee made no move to stop the barrel of the pistol from settling firmly against the right side of his skull.

Sick with the knowledge Randy might move beyond the polite courtesy, and all around reluctance when it came to him, after learning just how far the lycanthropy had spread, Dee closed his eyes, merely accepting the fate that had been dealt him, sparing no ill thought of Bradford as he was acting upon a belief system he believed true, never mind the fact such a system had been instilled by his organization's leader. Expecting to embrace oblivion within a number of moments, when no such darkness came forth, Dee leaned towards the barrel of the pistol against his head, almost pleadingly, starting when the cold metal of the weapon fell away abruptly.

As Bradford collapsed next to him, Dee opened his eyes, eyeing the pistol to his left and the shell of the Resistance member's body to his right, raking his eyes upward to meet the gaze of a hesitant werker standing before him, it's intent did not seem focused on doing Dee harm however, it appeared the werker was trying to determine whether or not the raven-haired man was one of it's own, or something else altogether.

With a slight sniff, the werker moved onward, and watching his so-called savior slather away, Dee took hold of the gun and fingering the trigger, pulled it a moment later, an uneasy smile taking form on his face as he took note of the small river of blood, flowing freely from the body of the werker that had passed him by, weaving it's way towards him. It was only when two of his fingers became coated with crimson warmth, Dee brought his hand close, and seeing all had returned to normal (as it could be), wiped the blood away, tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and stood, intent on seeing if Randy had survived yet another impossible situation.

The chaos around him slowly died down, and it was clear from his quick examination who had won this round, the werker safe house had been caught quite unprepared and had paid the consequences for it, and unwilling as he had been at first, Dee had fought for the Resistance as well.

-----------------------------

Out of the original 27 Resistance members, only 17 had managed to escape the werker safe house more or less intact, when it had become apparent there were no more werkers to exterminate, the remaining group had quickly returned to the tunnel from whence they had come, dressing wounds as well they could until proper medical treatment could be had, what carnage each had witnessed had been put outside of mind until it could be properly processed.

Dee walked silently next to Randy, who occasionally glanced towards him but commented not, unsure of the exact source of the man's anxiety, as it could be a number of issues, their recent excursion notwithstanding; his reason for keeping an eye on Dee was merely because of the threat of another episode, Randy's personal feelings, meager as they were, were of little matter. If such things were given room to grow, the Resistance leader would be committing something close to political suicide, as he could not function properly in his job if he was torn on what it was to destroy werkers.

Disregarding the issue completely as Dee suddenly stumbled, Randy moved ahead of one of the members of his organization, and caught the man neatly in his arms, quickly settling Dee onto his back, the familiar weight easing some of the tension in his body unknowingly, tightening his grip, Randy continued forward, his brow ceased in thought, pondering the next move the Resistance would make.

The episode had struck him unaware, and slipping into the all too familiar feeling of disorientation, Dee was startled to find himself viewing the private detective Smith, someone he had assumed had been killed for prying too deeply into William's affairs, yet there the man was, standing on a corner, his hands shoved deep within the depths of his trench coat, his body language uncomfortable as Smith examined his surroundings every few moments, clearly paranoid of what may have been lurking in the shadows near him. Understanding such a feeling, Dee was subject to William's thoughts, something that had thus far eluded him, immediately, the raven-haired man came to know why Smith had been allowed to live, William planned to use the detective to lure out those of the Resistance.

Much like a cat and mouse game, once the werker knew whom to target within the organization, he would inform his comrades, and the hunt would begin anew, this time his kind having the upper hand instead of the humans. How far William had proceeded in his plan Dee knew not, as this memory seemed to focus entirely on stalking Smith as he went about his business, unknowing of what plans had hung upon the success of Smith contacting the Resistance.

William's attention shifted from the waiting detective to the two files within his briefcase, containing most of the details of Randy's life, though the information on recent events of said man's life was somewhat lacking, such as how the Resistance had been formed, or how the organization's leader had been able to secure funding and weaponry with little to no effort, though William had his own theories on the matter.

As another body came to rest aside Smith's, the werker's vigil began anew, and as William focused on the pair, Dee was startled when he could suddenly hear the start of the conversation between the mysterious Resistance member, and Smith.

"Anthony Smith?" Slight shuffle of cloth, clasp of flesh meeting flesh (obviously, a handshake), before a soft gasp tumbled out of someone's mouth, there was a soft chuckling before the figure next to Smith patted the detective on the back, and led the man towards a nearby bar. Curious as to whether William would be able to hear the pair in such a noisy setting, Dee mentally slapped himself when the werker followed them, keeping a discreet distance, stopping when Smith and his companion had entered the bar, and leaning just beyond the business's entrance.

Paying no mind to some of the shady characters that passed him by on the street, William once again made full use of his exceptional hearing, and after sorting through the various bar noises, focused entirely on Smith. "May I call you Tony?" Liquid swishing in a glass, slight clink as Smith raised his glass to his lips then a strained silence, during which, no declination of the man's question had been issued. "There's no need to be nervous, I appreciate you contacting me, though I was rather surprised when you mentioned a werker had hired you to look into my history.

"It's never happened before, as far as I know," Randy finished, the last of his words slightly incredulously, as if he still had trouble believing a werker could have gone to so much trouble just to uncover his past. Listening in mute fascination, as Dee hadn't expected the Resistance contact to be Ryo himself, perhaps the man's curiosity had gotten the better of him, though somehow that didn't fit the profile of the cold-scarred man in the present.

"Had I realized it sooner, I wouldn't have handed over what papers I did to Cunningham, some of the information continued in those files was rather comprehensive," Smith said, guilt all too clear in his voice, Dee would had thought his occupation had taught him to carefully school his voice to reveal nothing of his emotions but perhaps the detective had other strengths.

"I'm going to assume you're well suited for your job, and ask just what you uncovered during your investigation." Over the next forty-five minutes, Smith told of his findings, Randy commenting ever so often, but mostly remaining silent, especially when the detective told of his parents' accident, and what had been held back from him as a child, nonetheless, when Smith told of his last meeting with William, Randy inquired as to how the man had managed to escape, if the werker had known Smith had stumbled upon the truth of the matter.

"The fact we were in a public place helped, though once I left, I honestly expected Cunningham to pursue me, as time passed, I suppose Cunningham felt I wasn't much of a threat to his existence. How wrong he will be." Dee could make out the malevolent grin on the detective's face without even seeing it, and as the conversation progressed, Randy explained how his organization functioned, information Dee had come to know by reading between the lines of the scarred man's words.

"How were you able to secure funding and weaponry so fast after forming the Resistance?" Silence stretched onward for a few moments, the only sounds issuing forth the clink of glasses, and slight vibrations of a throat as it took in drink before Randy spoke, an odd tone in his voice Dee couldn't recognize, he flashed back on the few times the Resistance leader had used such a tone and was glad he was unable to view the men as they conversed, as the expressions of Randy's face had never been pleasant whilst the tone was in use.

"Oddly enough, that was the easy part of starting the organization, one merely had to capture that which it wanted to destroy, confirm there were men in powerful positions in the immediate area, and release a werker in a decidedly convenient location. The trick of it was reaching the men before the werker did, but five times out of ten, you usually were able to adequately defend your targets (that is, the men whose assistance you desired); you'd be surprised how grateful a person is after having a life or death experience," Randy informed, chuckling darkly as he no doubt waited for Smith to process what he'd revealed.

"…Then that general and the others, unaware you'd set them up, willingly granted you what you asked?" Smith's voice held disbelief, with a thread of apprehension, as if the detective was uncertain whether or not meeting with the Resistance leader had been wise after all. "Of course, and with such funds, it was only a matter of time before the organization became what it is today; besides this unit in New York, there is also one in California, and plans to expand further are being considered as well."

"You said there were two kinds of werewolves? Err, werkers…I'm beginning to understand why you refer to them by another name." Quick silence as Smith waited for Randy to affirm his inquiry, during which a nod must have been issued as the man continued onward. "The physical kind would no doubt be easy to spot but how do you go about the seeking those who are infected with lycanthropy of the mental type?"

"Corpos, the physical sort, are easy to locate as you said, those of the psychological sort are dealt with soon enough within the confines of human society; serial killers are caught, loonies locked behind the bars of an asylum and so on. The Resistance focuses primarily upon werkers who physically manifest themselves, as they present the bigger threat."

"Question, if one maintained enough sanity after becoming marked by a werker, how could you tell the difference between said person and a corpo werker?" Swish of liquid as Randy thought over Smith's question. "Fundamentally, they would be the same, cut from the same cloth, and as such, both would need to be exterminated. Are you asking this out of pure speculation or does your question have some basis?"

"S-Speculation, of course," Smith replied all too quickly, a pregnant silence grew between the pair of men until Randy made a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and moan, before asking if the detective had any other questions about the Resistance, while giving Smith time to think, Randy whistled softly and ordered another drink, just as Smith's voice rang out again, the memory began to break at the edges, and though Dee tried frantically to remain within it but a moment longer, the pull to reality was far stronger than his meager will.

Dee came back to himself, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and lemon, and beneath that, the intangible musk of Randy's skin, remaining still on the man's back as he didn't trust himself to walk unaided, Dee kept his eyes closed, recalling what he had just learned and how it affected his situation, despite the hard truths he'd inadvertently overheard, it didn't make him think any less of Randy. Aware said man most likely knew he was conscious, Dee started when one of the hands gripping his legs lessened it's grip before squeezing almost painfully.

Biting back the whimper that threatened to escape, Dee stirred pointedly, and thought he heard a chuckle, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the scream that rose from the far back of the Resistance crowd, and at the first flash of fur he saw, Dee knew something had gone horribly wrong. "Son of a bitch, don't tell me…" Randy started, only to throw himself into the melee when it drew close enough, having already discarded the burden of Dee from his back. As the fighting begin anew, a nasty thought began to grow in the back of Dee's mind.

He could recall the feel of Ilona's body on him, her eagerness to sway him to the werkers' side, the woman's angry tears as Dee forced her to remember her slain husband, and Ilona's offer, "_We have an outing, a hunt that I wish you to attend, but do not worry, you will not need to participate, only observe_." Watching another Resistance member fall a few feet away amidst the alarming amount of werkers making their way out of the safe house the Resistance had previously vacated, as few flicks of blood landed on his face, Dee told himself it couldn't be true.

Warmth sliding down his cheek, Dee fell back against one of the tunnel's walls, and bringing a hand up to wipe the blood away, thought furiously that if what he was thinking was correct, then unknowingly Dee had played a part in it, it was his fault the blood on his hand was present. If the hunt Ilona had cited back then had been regarding the Resistance, then the reason why Ilona had never appeared to assist her forces when Randy and his crew had attacked their headquarters to rescue Dee…

"The bitch used me as bait." Ilona had known the Resistance would find and investigate the hidden tunnel, and set the whole thing up, including the Resistance's seemingly easy victory. "The hell she wants to stop the killing, Ilona just wants to completely annihilate the Resistance!" _Randy's going to play right into her hands,_ Dee thought, _shit, regardless of how this all started, nothing's going to come of it all if Randy doesn't survive_.

Disregarding his body's discomfort from its last episode, Dee lunged forward, dodging aside when a werker nearly rammed him unknowingly, and taking advantage of their wariness of him, having already noticed those transformed couldn't peg him as either human or werker, Dee smoothly navigated through the throe, slashing out with half-sharpened claws when it was needed until spotting Randy in a far corner, his hands moving fast against a furred shape he'd cornered.

"Ryo, you've got to tell your men to retreat, this is all an elaborate tra-" Eyes going wide when he had ventured closer to the werker Randy had been slicing, Dee noticed the creature had stopped fighting, and curled it on itself, merely accepting the abuse it was being given without a thought of retaliation. Compared to its other kin, the werker was also of smallish size, and watching Randy continue to lash out at it, Dee reached out for a shoulder, all too aware of his altered hands, and stifled a grunt when fingernails tore into his flesh.

Randy had originally slashed out with his switchblade, but when he'd recognized Dee as owner of the hands, he'd quickly bend his wrist inward, but by doing so, some of his fingers drew blood instead, and watching blood pool out of the deep scratches, Randy leveled a glare at Dee, both angry that he'd interrupted and that Dee had been keeping secret the changes he was going through. "What the hell do you want? And did you say something about retreat?"

Ignoring the scratches and lowering his hands, Dee nodded, noting the escalation of fighting behind him as it became more frenzied, Resistance members taking more risk out than usual, out of panic, as werkers continued to appear in the tunnel. "Their leader planned this, it's a trap, you've got to gather what members you've got left and retreat, or I doubt anyone is getting out of here alive."

Randy's eyes hardened, and stepping back a bit, his back meeting the tunnel wall, Dee refused to look elsewhere, having decided Randy could bitch all he wanted, he was getting out of here alive, along with whoever else was smart enough to listen to sound advice. "Just how do you know this bit of knowledge? Did you and Ilona have a little heart-to-heart while you were at their headquarters?"

_He referred to her by name. _"It's not like that! She mentioned something about a hunt, and considering all that happened after I was taken back by the Resistance, there's no other way to explain why else we'd be attacked after seemingly emptying one of their main safe houses." The bloodied werker behind Randy began to move, and briefly looking away from the Resistance leader, Dee stared, silently warning the werker that if he acted wrongly, his life would be forfeit.

"How do I know you're not acting with _them_?" _He can calmly stand here and argue while his men are slaughtered? We don't have time for this. _"Did I look like I was expecting you guys to attack their headquarters then! Ryo, we've got to get out of here before the situation gets even worse," Dee explained, half wanting to punch Randy just so he could get the man out of the tunnel.

"So you keep saying," Randy said blandly, not even showing panic in his expression when a werker crept towards them, merely reaching towards the small of his back to pull a handgun out, and firing once. Eyeing the fallen werker, and the small puddle of blood gathering beneath its head, Dee realized that though Randy did have a tendency to overindulge, the man had clearly detached himself from the situation to focus on the Resistance's one aim: the execution of werkers.

_No matter how many reasons I give him, he's not going to leave willingly. To Randy, this is an ideal situation, no matter how stacked the odds are against him, he wants to stay, regardless that it's a trap. _"One has to wonder which side you're on at this point," Randy said dangerously, his free hand moving to grip one of Dee's wrists, bringing one changed hand up, the dark fur and half claws contrasting against the pale hand holding it, "given how your body continually betrays you."

Not liking the dark light in Randy's eyes or the sudden change in discussion, Dee gritted his teeth and wisely decided not to comment, even when the pressure on his hand increased significantly. "Disregarding that, are you and your men going to retreat or not? You're not going to be able to calmly discuss this much longer," Dee replied softly, breathing an inner sigh of relief when the werker Randy had attacked leaned back against the wall opposite them, and appeared to pass out.

"We aren't retreating," Randy replied shortly, releasing Dee's hand and instead reaching towards the man's back, and just when he'd taken grip of the pistol Dee had taken from the fallen Bradford, Dee pulled his left arm back, and making a fist with his strange fingers and hand, socked Randy directly in the gut, winching when he felt a rib break against his fisted hand._ If you hadn't been so damn stubborn, force wouldn't have been the only option. _

His breath suddenly short, Randy lose grip of the pistol against Dee's back, and slumped over, his vision flashing black. "You…fucking…assho-" _Right back at you,_ Dee thought to himself, as once he confirmed Randy was unconscious, he took hold of the man's body and easily flung Randy onto a shoulder, noting vaguely his own hands still hadn't returned to their original state. _I wonder if it's because I'm presently in danger? I need to ask someone who knows more about this than I do._

The Resistance leader's handgun Dee picked up from the ground, and raising the weapon, Dee fired five consecutive shots (1), and hoped he'd gotten most of the remaining Resistance members' attention, though he was taking a risk just by acting as a distraction anyway. Figuring most of Randy's men would take in their leader's delicate position over Dee's shoulder, and assume the worst, Dee immediately headed towards the nearest opening, when he was a good distance away from the main fight, he pushed through one of them and sat Randy down on the ground, looking around the werker safe house warily.

Luckily, it was empty, and making sure to drag something heavy against the trapdoor leading to the tunnel, Dee explored the many rooms around him, and once he'd found what he wanted, he set the first aid kit near to Randy, and leaning down, unbuttoned the man's shirt so he could dress the Resistance leader's recent wounds, as well as his own. Dee was somewhat stunned to discover his hands had gone back to normal, but once the scratches on his hand had been properly bound, he wondered just how he was going to explain all this to any of the members that happened to survive the melee going on in the tunnel.

_Randy is not going to be happy once he wakes up,_ Dee thought, turning his gaze upon the man lying next to him, trying to plan his next move but without any thought as to where he could go without placing himself or Randy in more danger. There was a series of thuds against the trapdoor, and recognizing the Resistance code the group had set before they'd started into the tunnel, Dee pushed the wooden trunk off the door, and jumped back in surprise when two figures exited it.

Finding two familiar faces suddenly opposite his, Dee waited for a sign of anyone else coming, but when two furred bodies began to move towards the opening, Dee quickly dragged the trunk back against the trapdoor, not waiting to invite anymore trouble. As it was, it looked as if the two men who'd run from the fight when they could, were a set of tall brunette twins, each with pale gray eyes, the only indication to tell them apart was a deep ragged scar that ran aside one's cheek.

"You forcibly pulled Randy from that chaos? You've got guts," the men with the scar commented shortly, pulling the first aid kit his way, and motioning his brother close so he could tend to the man's wounded arm. Trying to remember the men's names, Dee scoffed, glaring at the unconscious figure of Randy pointedly, something he would have never normally done before this had all started. "I didn't do it out of any whim just so you know, that whole thing was a damn trap, and like an idiot, Ryo refused to give the order to retreat."

Chuckling, the scarred twin cleaned his brother's wound patiently, as it was quite deep, and he wanted to make sure the bleeding had stopped before he bound it, it would be a waste of bandages after all if the wound kept seeping blood as heavily as it was. "I'm not surprised, seeing how deeply Randy hates his own kind." Going pale, Dee stared incredulously at the Resistance member as he brought a dressing up and applied it to his brother's arm, not even noticing Dee's silence until he caught sight of the raven's haired man's face.

"You didn't know?"

"Seeing how close Randy keeps him, how could anyone find the time to tell him, Richard (2)?" The scarred man, Richard, gave a sigh and after taping down the dressing, leaned back and pulled a pack of cigarettes from one of his jean pockets, giving one of the cylinders to Dee after he stared longingly at Richard's lit one. Lighting it for him, Richard tugged his brother down next to him and ignoring the slightly disgusted look on his twin's face, exhaled; smoke curling around the edges of his mouth before dissipating eventually.

"What Rob means to say is Randy's been coddling you, a rare event in itself but I'm surprised he didn't mention he didn't quite survive Bikky's disappearance intact," Richard explained clearly, puffing away at his cigarette contently, apparently giving no thought to the fact he was one of the only four survivors in an group originally numbered 27. "He lost his mind for a short time, two weeks actually, and when Randy regained his senses, he managed to appear sane but when it came to werker matters, and even now, Randy has a habit of going berserk."

"It's actually taboo to mention that Randy is half as bad as werkers, the last person who did it by accident is supposedly dead," Rob finished curtly, ignoring the itch that had started near the wound on his arm. "…And how do you know all this?"

"Oh, we were part of the Randy's original group before the Resistance started expanding into what it is today," Richard answered, taking a moment to ground his cigarette into the floor, having already finished. "It's better that you know than not, since Randy could snap at any time once the full moon draws closer," Rob added, watching Dee's face as he tried to digest the information he'd been given, and failed miserably to hide the unease he was feeling.

"He's got no right to run this organization," Dee muttered to himself, watching Randy's unconscious figure next to him, unable to believe that the scarred man's sanity held on such a fragile thread, then again there had been signs Randy wasn't all there at times, his reaction to Bikky earlier just one of many that came to Dee's mind. The extreme hatred he had displayed when first discovering Dee was turning, the frenzied way in which he organized parties to exterminate werkers with no regards to consequences. _I should have realized it earlier…_

"Be that as it may, he does, and despite his faults, Randy is an efficient leader on all counts," Rob explained shortly, eyeing his wristwatch closely, there was no guarantee after all that they'd be safe here for much longer. "We just know not to trust him much when it gets to that time every month," Richard added, standing up and offering Dee a hand, which he hesitatingly accepted then leaned down and draped Randy over a shoulder again, as it didn't look like the Resistance leader would be awakening anytime soon.

"I just don't get how you can put any trust in him at all," Dee stated quietly, walking alongside Rob and Richard as they headed out of the safe house and headed out onto the city street, heading back towards the area they had originally arrived in before exploring the underground tunnel. Richard laughed for a moment, then leaned against Dee's free shoulder, grinning, apparently amused at Dee's thought process, "Put it this way, Dee, would you want someone who knew nothing about werkers running this organization?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Randy may not be aware of it himself, but he knows werkers intimately, inside and out, which makes him, despite his mental state, the closest thing to a leader we will ever have," Richard finished, patting Dee's shoulder and opening the side van door when they had reached one of the Resistance's vehicles. "You remember where Randy's apartment is, right?"

Nodding to Rob, and grateful the man's residence was only a few blocks away, since Dee wasn't sure how long he could drive without falling into another episode, he slipped into the driver's seat and motioned Richard over. "What are you guys planning to do next?"

Richard sighed, bringing up a hand to scratch at his chin unconsciously. "Well, we need to put the alert out to other Resistance members that the werkers retaliated, and warn those who were planning to undergo missions to cancel them, one disaster is all we need after all. Basically, we need to regroup…let me know when Randy's awake, all right? My cell number should be in the Resistance records.

"But I would recommend you keep your distance until he calms down after realizing what you've done, confronting him about it is the worst you could do," Richard warned softly, locking eyes with Dee until the raven-haired man nodded and started the van's engine. Waving briefly to Rob, who only nodded in the van's general direction, Dee pulled out into the street, and as the scenery sped by, pondered just how he was going to isolate himself from Randy if he was forced to occupy the same apartment.

----------------------------

There was the sense of movement before him, and then the chair he'd accidentally fallen asleep in next to the bed, was suddenly shifting sideways, and just before his head would have hit the floor, Dee extended his arm, and wincing when his elbow impacted against the floor, he opened clenched eyes and warily looked up at the looming shape of Randy standing over him. _Son of a bitch, he's awake, and he's already intent on killing me,_ Dee thought, halfway whimpering in his mind but grateful the punch he'd given Randy hadn't seemed to do any further damage beyond a cracked rib.

He had no warning when he was abruptly hauled to his feet, thanks to the Resistance leader's hand gripping the back of his shirt, and rather than choke, Dee allowed the indignity until a fist near about turned his head about. He understood well why Randy was angry, and that he was a convenient target but with all he'd gone through, Dee was sick of being given the short end of the stick, it was about time things went from bad to good in his opinion.

Catching the knee coming up to kick him in the stomach, Dee pushed it away and stomping on Randy's left instep, when the man stumbled, Dee guided him towards the bed, ignoring his bloody nose and throbbing jaw. Just as his back hit the covers, Randy's temper seemed to flare, and he rose, fists fast at work against Dee's person, but when the man didn't seem to take note of the blows, and his blood began to drip onto Randy's neck and chin, Randy's movements slowed and just when Dee's mouth would have pressed against his, Randy shifted his head just so, avoiding the kiss just barely.

There was a weight in Dee's eyes that said if this isn't the way it was going to be, the rest of the fight Randy had started was not going to be pretty; when teeth bit into the skin of his neck, Randy's breath suddenly went short, and his back writhed against the bed before the Resistance leader intentionally bucked, causing Dee to accidentally break skin, and lose the grip on Randy's hands he'd just secured seconds before.

Fingers digging into his shoulder, Dee winched when Randy shifted his weight, effectively switching their positions, and Dee already attempted to sit up since if he didn't have control of the situation, Randy wouldn't bother converting his anger into sex, when the scarred man leaned down, pressing his weight against Dee's, Dee went still, suddenly afraid for no reason he could cite. "I know what you're trying to do, and I'll admit it's sneaky but it's not going to work as well as you think.

"I'm not known for giving into my sex drive much, and even if I do, it's definitely not going to be with you," Randy explained, voice low and dangerous, an edge of a growl in it, trying to assert his dominance over Dee on all bases, should the man get it into his head he was Randy's equal. "Why not? It's not like you're any different than I am." As soon as he'd said it, Dee wished he could take it back; it hadn't even been three hours since he'd parted from the twins, and he'd already revealed something he shouldn't have known.

The dark light that'd been evident in Randy's eyes when he'd been gripping Dee's changed hand in the tunnel earlier returned, and settling his weight more heavily against Dee's waist, Randy grabbed one of Dee's wrists, and brought it over the man's head, and squeezed, a smile breaking out when Dee man twitched in pain beneath him. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Dee replied quickly, twisting his wrist quickly to loosen Randy's grip on it, he'd never minded a little pain when it came to foreplay but this was just abuse. "No, I think you're trying to insinuate something here, and I'm just wondering who would've told you certain things while I was out." Just when he'd managed to free his wrist, Randy leaned closer, an unpleasant smile on his face as he ran a hand against Dee's bloodied cheek, a hint of a fingernail evident in the caress.

Remembering the strength he'd shown when Ilona had situated herself against him much as Randy was at the moment, Dee jerked a leg up, and folding it quickly, tucked it against Randy's back, using the stance to lean forward and grabbing the Resistance leader's hips, slid the man onto his side, quickly grabbing the man's wrists and pinning him against the bed whilst his knees came to rest against Randy's sides. Dee had just barely recalled the rib he'd cracked, and had managed to avoid putting pressure on it, but he was sure Randy was feeling pain anyway.

"I am alluding to something," Dee growled out, his own anger coming to the forefront now that Randy had truly ground on his last nerve, he'd never liked being at the mercy of others, especially when it came to serious matters such as this. "I'm saying you're a damn hypocrite, saying this and that about how evil werkers are when you're really no better yourself…right, werker?" And just like that, Randy lost control, fighting against Dee frantically, freeing one hand and burying it into Dee's stomach, then his chin. Striking back himself, Dee thought nothing of the various blows he dealt, inwardly satisfying some part of himself he'd been unable to acknowledge until this moment.

It was a rather useless fight, Dee fighting because he was sick of being abused, and Randy, because he could never quite forgive the fact that Dee had been right to knock himself unconscious when he had earlier. But pride didn't allow either of them to back down, and it was only when both of them were thoroughly bloodied, exhausted, not to mention sore, that Dee raised his hands in surrender and collapsed onto the floor, the cold feeling good against his back.

"We're both idiots, aren't we?" Grinning when Randy began to laugh, Dee sat up when the laughter abruptly turned bitter, and dragging himself from the floor, Dee stood, eyeing Randy, one of the man's hands was swung over his closed eyes, and upon looking closer, when a wetness leaked out, trailing down towards Randy's right ear, Dee crept closer and caught the tear on a fingertip before it could drip into the inner shell of the ear.

Despite both their injuries, Dee sat himself down next to Randy's lax figure, and pulling the scarred man's hand away from his face, leaned down and licked away the few tears that had slipped out, aware of the sudden tension that settled in the air, his mouth hovering just slightly over Randy's, when the Resistance leader closed the distance, Dee couldn't stop the smile that came over him. It would only be now, with both of them beaten up and vulnerable as all hell that Randy would allow himself to give into Dee's advances.

It was a painful kiss, in more than one, and not just because of Dee's split lip, for in it, Dee could sense the last remnants of Randy's anger, and the deep vat that was his sorrow, his frustration, all the emotions he couldn't properly channel without appearing weak, Randy was trying to convey in a kiss. Only he would try to get someone else to shoulder his burden, or at least try to get Dee to understand why Randy acted why he did, which was unnecessary, because as soon as Dee had come to realize the scarred man was mentally deficient, the pieces of the puzzles had snapped together, forming a whole.

Randy destroyed those on the verge of change because he couldn't stand being reminded of what he was, couldn't stand seeing anyone become like him, in a way he understood his condition better than anyone but instead of consciously comprehending it, he chose to lash out against those who had only just began to truly understand his hell. In a perverse way, Randy believed what he was doing was just, and while it did spare others unnecessary pain, it didn't help atone for the lives he'd taken over the years.

While his mind had been busy reviewing Randy's motives, the kiss had moved beyond innocent, and exploring the mouth against his as deep as he could, Dee's hand shifted towards Randy's waist, busying itself with the man's belt while Randy himself raised his arms, wove them around Dee's neck and pressed himself closer, almost like a cat would cuddle itself around it's owner when it was receiving proficient enough attention.

Shaking off the mental imagery when it began to get distracting, Dee's hand conquered the belt, and slipped in against Randy's stomach, moving further until the groan that slipped from the Resistance leader confirmed he'd indeed found what he wanted. It was a wonder Randy was actually playing submissive in this situation, but given his earlier actions, perhaps this was his way of apologizing, which wouldn't be off base considering the times he'd comforted Dee without knowing why.

_Randy wouldn't know an apology if it bit him in the ass,_ Dee thought giving a chuckle as fingernails came to dig into his shoulders when the raven-haired man applied a bit more pressure with his hand, then busied his mouth with attending to the earlier bite he'd made on Randy's neck.

It was only when the breath against his ear grew heavier that Dee knew Randy was close, he thought about pushing his luck but Dee had already been allowed more than a glimpse at Randy's sensual side, one he never would have seen otherwise so bypassing his own pleasure, Dee shifted his hand just so, flicking the tip of a thumb against the tip of Randy's most sensitive part, and the man beneath him unraveled completely, his body going into tremors, and Randy's eyelashes fluttering minutely.

It was an enjoyable sight, the Resistance leader at the very moment of climax, all his restraints unhinged, the flushed face, unusually darkened eyes, and the brief show of teeth against his bottom lip as Randy tried to keep relatively quiet, looking more relaxed than Dee had ever seen him before. Surprisingly, the man was a rather quiet partner, only expressing approval of Dee's actions in his body language, which had been open the entire time Dee had been pressed against him.

Uncaring of the mess on his hand, Dee laid down against Randy, and briefly nuzzling the man's neck, closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth beneath him while he could. Who knew when Randy would ever allow him the privilege, if ever, again; this thought in mind, when a hand rose and settled against the back of his neck, playing with the few strands of hair situated there, Dee struggled to keep his face blank but ultimately failed when a grin overturned his mouth. Perhaps this whole mess wasn't as bad as Dee originally thought if he could ever so slowly assist a man in regaining his lost humanity.

To Be Continued… 

(1) I'm not a gun expert by any means, so I'm not sure how many bullets are in one clip of a handgun; because of that, I'm also not including any details as to the type of guns the Resistance uses.

(2) You guys know you who are, so forgive me for naming the twins what I did (I was feeling lazy, sue me).


End file.
